Like, for instance, Viggo's sadly foolish idea that Diomedes was a smarter tactician than Odysseus, which, honestly, Eric didn't even know why he was friends with anyone that was so misguided. Eric blamed it on the weed, which was really clichéd when one thought about it. Honestly, an art teacher who showed up for classes in frayed jeans and peace shirts and barefoot and spouted off Keynesian theories completely out of context and got stoned with the kids in his art classes and had a thing for banging hot grad students – Vig was like a professor as written by Dan Brown, no subtlety at all. Except for the part where Vig was actually a brilliant teacher and had a passion for arts education, and wasn't a loony conspiracy theorist with a self-flagellation habit. That Eric knew about, at any rate. Anyway, the point was, Viggo also liked to argue with Eric about the relative merits of arts education vs. sports education, which was also a pretty clichéd argument, but Eric supposed that was just as much his fault as Viggo's since he kept responding. And it wasn't like Eric didn't fully appreciate that the arts were an important part of a well-rounded education. He just wasn't sold on the idea that art appreciation was something that could be taught - art always seemed to him like something that needed to be discovered, not dissected under a microscope to divine the artist's (or musician's or writer's) "true" intentions like art was some sort of fucked up complicated puzzle just waiting for a think tank to come along and reveal the grand plan. (Well, maybe T.S. Eliot's poems were like that, or James Joyce's books, but there were always exceptions that proved the rule.) But sports, on the other hand, that was something that was totally teachable. Sure a guy could have innate talent, but without the right coach on the field and in the trenches to reinforce good habits, that talent would go to waste. And yeah, there were a lot of schools of thought about how to go about teaching kids the right way to hit a baseball or dunk a basketball or carry a football or slam a puck, but it all came down to honing talent into a viable skill set. And Eric liked to think that he was damn good at his job. Especially in a football obsessed state like Georgia in a football obsessed school like UGA. Sure, some years were more challenging than others, but he'd built a pretty good program the last five years he'd been in Athens, and honestly, he didn't want to do anything else. He wasn't a Lane Kiffin or Pete Carroll in disguise – college football was where his heart was, and he couldn't imagine doing this at another school. He had a good life here, crazy stoned argumentative friends notwithstanding. Eric put his feet up on the desk in his tiny office (located in the back of the locker room) as he studied the play book for Saturday's game against Florida, and took an absentminded sip of his coffee. It had long since gone cold, but he didn't want to get up to refresh it. The team had full pads practice in an hour, and he wanted to make sure he was completely prepared for the drills they'd be running. Florida ran a 3-4 defense scheme that was gonna be tricky for his offense, but he had faith in Urban's ability to get the ball to Bloom and in Padalecki's ability to protect Urban against the rush. He scribbled a couple of notes onto a notepad so he could remember to talk them over with Garrett, his defensive coordinator, when he heard the light tapping on his door, which was always open to players and other coaches alike. He believed in instilling respect through hard work and being there for his team and listening, not setting himself on some sort of untouchable pedestal like an Urban Meyer. Besides, Eric's sheer size and storied past as a player did more to get his players to shut the hell up and listen to him than any sense of "aura" ever could. He glanced up, then did a classic double-take, greeting on his lips dying as he slowly got to his feet, shoes thumping on the floor. There was a bona fide goddess standing before him. Like, a seriously full on Amazonian Titian-haired goddess, wearing a lovely blue dress that showed off every generous curve on a body that seemed built for sin and these heels that showcased the best legs he'd seen outside this one high-class strip joint in Atlanta. She was just standing there, with a small smile curving those gorgeous lips and with a twinkle in her equally gorgeous eyes that seemed to scream that she knew exactly what Eric was thinking and wanted in on the action. "They don't give you much room to work back here, do they?" she asked, perusing the cramped shelves with their overflowing books and binders and his equally cramped desk with its overflowing papers and notepads. It took him a moment to remember the power of speech. "No, not really. And, uh, who are you?" he asked, when he thought he could do it without drooling on his shirt. Jesus Christ on toast, it was like someone had answered his every prayer for the perfect woman. "Oh, sorry, where are my manners?" She stuck her hand out in a no-nonsense gesture that managed to be sexy as hell. Her voice was low and smooth, carried with it a hint of Southern, and reminded Eric of honey-laced whiskey. "Christina Hendricks. New head of the Math Department. Just thought I'd come by to introduce myself." Eric blinked. "You're replacing Professor Yellicks?" He may have to rethink his entire stance on mathematicians. She certainly didn't look stuffy or humorless. And definitely didn't seem to have a fetish for tweed. "Guilty as charged," she answered. Belatedly, he realized she was still holding out her hand. He took it, mentally berating himself the entire time for his second lapse in as many minutes, and just barely resisted the urge to rub his thumb along her skin to see if she was real and not some fem-bot dreamed up by the tech guys in one of the labs. "Well, the school is lucky to have you." Eric knew he sure as hell felt lucky that she'd chosen UGA and not Tech. "I think so." She offered him a coquettish look from under impossibly long, dark lashes. "I actually watched you putting the boys through a pretty tough practice yesterday." "You did?" And he'd somehow missed seeing her in the stands? Was he blind? "Mmhmm," she hummed, looking pleased with herself. Her hair curved along her neck like a possessive lover. Eric felt insanely jealous. He could actually feel himself regressing into a hormonal teenage boy. "I could never resist a good looking man in a pair of form-fitting shorts, especially one with a great sense of authority," she continued. "You were like a regular General Miltiades out there." His brain stuttered for a moment, caught in a loop at the thought that a) she thought he was good looking and b) she'd most likely been checking out his ass. Then the rest of her words caught up to him, and he lowered his brows in confusion. "Are you calling me a tyrant or a brilliant strategist?" he asked, trying to figure out if he should be insulted or flattered. "Can't you be both?" Her smile was an insane mix of sexy and mischievous. "Besides, I must say I'm impressed that you know your Greek generals." He was positive he'd fallen asleep at his desk and this was a dream. But, just to be sure, he played along with her. "I'm more than just a nice set of legs in a pair of shorts." "Ah, but they're such nice legs," she replied, eyeing him like he was a particularly tasty dessert and she was starving. "You'll have to forgive me for forgetting that you have a brain to complement them." "Um." Christ, was she really flirting with him? Was it Christmas already? Or Sinclair playing an elaborate April Fool's prank? "What about you? What's a math geek doing talking about ancient military strategy?" "I like the classics. And I've got a thing for the Battles B.C. show on The History Channel." There was no way she was real. Any minute now, he'd wake up with drool on his face and the playbook under his cheek. "That's my favorite program." "Not ESPN?" "That's work. The History Channel is for relaxation." "I like you, Coach Eric Bana," she stated, then pointed to the board behind him. "Speaking of work, what're all those squiggles on the chalkboard there?" He turned, wondering what she was talking about. "Oh, um, they're plays we're running during practice today." "I see. It's like an equation, isn't it?" Christina remarked, and stepped closer to the board. And him. Her perfume was something light and floral that teased his senses and made his head swim. "What is this?" "Um." Eric cleared his throat. Was it just him or was it getting really hot in his office? "A 3-4 cover defense we're running later today in practice so our offense can get used to seeing it." "Fascinating," she murmured, tracing the inter-connecting dotted lines with the tip of her finger. Her nails were painted a pale shade of pink that only emphasized the long taper of her fingers. Then she tapped on a circle. "If you move this...circle...person...six inches to the left, you'd have a perfect chain of coverage, by the way. I doubt anyone could get through." Eric looked. And damned if Christina didn't have a point. "Uh, thanks." The smile she flashed was brilliantly wide. Every bit of IQ he ever had immediately dropped below his belt. "Any time. In fact," she continued, "if you had any other plays you wanted to run by me, I'd be happy to help." "You, uh...you would?" Definitely far too hot in his office. "Sure. My number's in the faculty directory. Gimme a call sometime if you need a second opinion." Then she patted his cheek, the touch both gentle and unbelievably confident. "I'll see you around." He most emphatically did not watch the sway of her hips as she walked out of his office and through the locker room. Nor did he spend a few long moments fantasizing about her ass. He was a professional, after all. Karl and Orlando, joined at the hip as always, came wandering in right after Christina disappeared. "Dude, who was the mega babe that just walked out?" Orlando asked, jerking his thumb at the door. "Saw her at practice yesterday in the stands. She's not someone's mom, is she?" "Because, seriously, if a MILF like that is single, I am so dumping Orlando for her," Karl continued, beating his hand over his heart like he was Pepe Le Peu from the old Loony Tunes cartoons. "I wouldn't blame you if you did, babe. I mean, that was a lot of woman," Orlando added, letting out a lusty, low whistle. Sanity slowly returned as Eric cuffed the back of Orlando's head. "Show some respect. She's not someone's mom. She's Christina Hendricks. The new math head," he added, conveniently forgetting that he'd been having his own x-rated thoughts about her just a minute ago. Karl twisted to stare at the door, his eyes owlishly large behind his glasses. "Seriously?" "Wait, you mean to tell me that she's gonna be teaching Chad??" Orlando asked, looking vaguely horrified. "It's not too late to switch majors," Karl mused. "Seriously, Coach E, if you don't tap that, it will be a dark time for all men everywhere." Eric crossed his arms in front of his chest and leveled his best glare in Orlando's direction. "What did I just tell you about respect?" "I am being respectful," Orlando countered. "I respect the hell out of her. Or I would, if she hadn't been so busy staring back at you as she walked away," he grinned. "Sexy and smart, man. That's lethal. You need to get on that." "Keep it up and I'll have you doing wind sprints all practice." "He's shutting up," Karl said, elbowing Orlando in the ribs. "Fine," Orlando sighed, giving an exaggerated shrug. "But I still expect an invite to the wedding." The question was out before Eric could stop himself. "You really think she looked interested?" "Are you serious?" Orlando looked like his eyes were about to bug out of his head, cartoon-style. "Dude, she was totally undressing you with her eyes at practice yesterday. It was kinda weird. I mean, I felt bad for you that she was totally objectifying you like that, but I figure you're a big guy, you can handle it." Honestly, Eric should have known better than to ask. He had no idea how Karl managed to put up with Orlando (and, honestly, didn't want to think much about it – they were great kids and even better players and that was all he needed to know). "Alright, you two, enough jawing. Get out on the field and start with some pass and blocking drills. I'll be out in a minute." "You got it, Coach," Karl said, and all but dragged Orlando out of the office. Eric had no doubts that the entire team would know about Christina's visit by the end of practice. Karl may be the only person that could control Orlando when Orlando got an idea, but not even Karl could keep Orlando's mouth shut when it came to gossip about hot women. And Christina (and those hips) definitely qualified as Grade A Hot. He swiped his beat up Dawgs hat from his desk and was just putting it on his head when his phone buzzed, letting him know he had a new text. He didn't recognize the number, but that wasn't anything new. Parents of his players were constantly texting him with "advice" from who he should use in running the Wildcat to how many reps he should give his backup QB in a blowout game. He pressed the "open" button, mind already on the field, then stopped short as he read the text: Did bears shit in the woods? "Fuck yes," Eric muttered to himself, and typed back an enthusiastic YES!! before he could talk himself out of it. About a minute later, Christina texted back with an address and another XOXO – Eric tried not to read too much into it. She was a pretty friendly sort, after all. Didn't have to mean anything. But part of him was wondering if he had enough time to run by his place after practice to catch a quick shower and change out of his shorts. Just in case. And he was definitely, emphatically NOT, mentioning this turn of events to either his star quarterback or his star running back. And he definitely wasn't telling Viggo about either the date (was it even a date?) or Christina at all. Eric prided himself on being smart, and letting a woman like Christina near a man like Viggo was bad news this early in the game. But still, some small part of him wanted to call Viggo and gloat. He was getting way too much like his students in his old age. Onto Extracurricular Activities
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