Chapter 3 Love is a Battlefield

T he day had been one for the record books, and not in a good way. Minerva Everhart was exhausted, frazzled, and more than a little disturbed by the unexpected turn her detention session with Jezebel Nightshade had taken. The memory of Archie Hawthorne's lips on hers, his hands gripping her hips with barely restrained hunger, kept intruding on her thoughts despite her best efforts to banish it. It was like all her high school longings had come true. Minerva had a feeling it would be very easy to fall back in love with Meathead.

All she wanted was a large glass of merlot, a steaming bubble bath, and to forget this whole cursed day had ever happened. Maybe she'd even indulge in a pint of rocky road ice cream and binge-watch that new trashy reality show about witches trying to make it in the big city. Anything to take her mind off a certain aggravating, unfairly attractive field hockey coach.

But the universe, it seemed, had other plans.

As Minerva trudged out to the faculty parking lot, her sensible heels clicking on the pavement, she caught sight of a familiar broad-shouldered figure leaning against the side of her battered navy hatchback.

Coach Archie Hawthorne, looking entirely too delectable, had his muscular arms crossed over his chest and a look of determination on his handsome face.

Minerva briefly considered turning tail and making a break for it, but she knew it was futile. The man was built like a linebacker and twice as persistent. With a sinking feeling in her stomach (that had absolutely nothing to do with anticipation or wayward butterflies), she squared her shoulders and marched up to him, head held high.

"I’m not going to change my mind about Jezebel’s full-term detention," said, fishing her keys out of her satchel.

Archie pushed off from the car, uncrossing his arms and running a hand through his artfully tousled chestnut hair. "I was hoping we could talk. About...well, about what happened back there."

Minerva felt her cheeks heat at the memory of their stolen kisses, the way his body had felt pressed against hers. She aimed for a nonchalant shrug, fiddling with her keys. "What's there to talk about? We had a momentary lapse in judgment brought on by an illicit potion. End of story."

He cocked an eyebrow, mouth quirking up at the corner. "Is that really all it was to you? A lapse in judgment?"

Yes , she wanted to snap. No , a traitorous little voice whispered in the back of her mind.

Archie sighed, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. "Look, I know things got a little heated back there. And I'm man enough to admit that lust potion or no, I wasn't exactly hating it."

Minerva's eyes widened at the frank admission, her heartbeat quickening. But before she could formulate a response, he pressed on.

"The thing is, Everhart, I like you. I always have, even back in our school days when you were the prickly potions prodigy and I was just the dumb jock."

She opened her mouth to protest that characterization, but he held up a hand, forestalling her.

"No, let me finish. I know we haven't always seen eye to eye, especially when it comes to academics versus athletics. But I've always admired your passion, your dedication to your students. Even if you can be a stubborn pain in the ass sometimes."

The last was said with a teasing grin, taking any sting out of the words. Minerva huffed, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. "Is this your idea of flattery, Coach? Because I've got to say, it needs some work."

Archie chuckled, the rich, warm sound sending tingles down her spine. "I'm getting to the flattery, hold your hippogriffs. What I'm trying to say is, I think we got off on the wrong foot this year. And I'd like a chance to start over, maybe get to know each other better outside of school."

Minerva's eyebrows nearly hit her hairline. "Are you asking me out, Meathead?" Her inner sixteen-year-old did cartwheels. How many times had she fantasized this happening?

He shrugged, a boyish grin spreading across his face. "I guess I am, yeah. What do you say, Ever-lame? Dinner, tonight, at that new troll-run gastropub in town? I promise not to spike your drink with any illicit brews."

She hesitated, torn between caution and curiosity. The sensible thing would be to turn him down gently but firmly, to nip this attraction in the bud before it could grow into something unmanageable. They were colleagues, after all, with a contentious history and wildly different priorities.

But then again, when was the last time she'd done something impulsive, something just for herself? When had she last let herself get swept up in the thrill of possibility, the giddy rush of new romance?

Besides, it was just dinner. What harm could it do?

Minerva took a deep breath, meeting Archie's hopeful gaze head-on. "All right, Coach. You've got yourself a date. I’ll meet you there at seven.”

The brilliant grin that split his face was almost worth the flutter of nerves in her belly.

Almost.

The Grumble and Brew was a charming little spot, all exposed brick and gleaming copper accents. The lighting was cozy and intimate. The delicious smells wafting from the open kitchen was enough to make Minerva's stomach rumble in anticipation.

Archie had even pulled out her chair at their table. She'd tried not to dwell on the shiver of awareness that raced through her when his fingers brushed her shoulder as he helped her out of her light spring jacket.

They'd ordered drinks (a robust cabernet sauvignon for her, a hoppy IPA for him) while they perused the menu, making small talk about their respective days. It was surprisingly easy, the conversation flowing without any of the barbed antagonism that typically characterized their interactions.

Minerva learned that Archie had a younger sister who was a magizoologist, specializing in the rehabilitation of magical creatures. He spoke of her with clear pride and affection, eyes lighting up as he recounted some of her more daring rescues.

In turn, she found herself opening up about her own family - her starchy, straitlaced father who'd never quite understood her passion for potion-making, her free-spirited mother who'd taught her to embrace her magical gifts with joy and creativity.

They swapped stories of their own time at Grimm Mawr Academy, marveling at how little had changed in the intervening years. Minerva had been studious, more interested in acing her exams than attending pep rallies or bonfires. Archie had been a star athlete, coasting by on his charm and raw talent.

"I had such a crush on you back then," he admitted with a rueful grin, taking a sip of his beer. "But I was too much of a chicken to ever do anything about it. I figured a girl as brilliant as you wouldn't give a meathead like me the time of day."

Minerva nearly choked on her wine, eyes widening. "You had a crush on me? But you never said anything! You barely even acknowledged my existence outside of the occasional 'nerd' comment." If she had only known then?

He ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah, I know. I was an idiot. I thought the only way to get your attention was to tease you, rile you up. Obviously, my flirting game needed work."

She snorted indelicately. "Obviously. I seem to recall hexing you with uncontrollable hiccups for a week in our sixth year after a particularly obnoxious comment about my study habits."

Archie winced at the memory, though his eyes sparkled with mirth. "Not my finest moment, I'll admit. But in my defense, I was a teenage boy hopped up on hormones and repressed emotions. Cut me a little slack, eh?"

Minerva rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched with the beginnings of a smile. "I suppose I can find it in my heart to forgive your past transgressions. Provided, of course, you've matured beyond such puerile antics."

"Oh, I've matured all right," he said with an exaggerated waggle of his eyebrows. "In all the ways that count."

She kicked him lightly under the table, biting back a laugh. "Down, boy. This is a classy establishment, not the locker room at Grimm Mawr Academy."

Their food arrived then, steaming plates of artfully arranged delicacies courtesy of the pub's troll chef. Minerva had ordered the dragon-braised short ribs with an elderberry reduction, while Archie had opted for the cockatrice schnitzel with crushed moonstone potatoes.

They dug in with gusto, appreciative noises and contented silences interspersing the flow of conversation. The food was divine, complex flavors bursting on the tongue and leaving them both pleasantly satiated. Minerva wanted to sing and dance, her high school crush had liked her back! And now that they were adults, nothing could stand in their way of being together.

As they lingered over coffee and a shared slice of decadent pixy-dusted chocolate cake, the talk naturally turned back to the events of the day - specifically, the incident with Jezebel.

"I meant what I said earlier," Archie said, setting down his beer and fixing Minerva with an earnest look. "I really do admire your dedication to your students, your unwavering belief in the importance of magical education. But I have to ask - is there any way you might consider easing up on Nightshade, just a tad? She’s under a lot of pressure. With the state championship coming up, the team really can't afford to lose her."

Minerva set down her glass with a bit more force than necessary, the warm glow of the evening rapidly cooling. "I'm sorry, Coach, but are you seriously asking me to compromise my academic standards for the sake of a sporting event? Surely even you can see how absurd that is." She should have known this was too good to be true.

Archie held up his hands in a placating gesture, but there was a stubborn set to his jaw that told Minerva he wasn't about to back down. "It's not just a sporting event, Everhart. This is the Grimms' shot at making history, at proving that Grimm Mawr Academy is more than just a punchline. Surely even you can understand what that means to the kids, to the whole damn town."

She scoffed. "Oh, I understand perfectly. You want me to coddle your star player, to overlook her blatant disregard for the rules and her own education, all so you can have your moment of glory on the field. Well, I'm sorry, but I won't do it. Jezebel needs to learn that actions have consequences, and that her magical studies are just as important as her precious field hockey."

Archie's eyes narrowed, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "Don't act like you're some bastion of academic integrity, Everhart. We both know you've bent the rules for your precious potions prodigies in the past. Or have you forgotten the incident with Alabaster Thicknesse and the mandrake smuggling ring?"

Minerva gasped, color flooding her cheeks. "That was completely different and you know it. Alabaster was a troubled student in need of guidance, not a blatant rule-breaker with an overinflated ego."

"Right, because Jezebel's just a dumb jock not worth your time or effort," he shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Merlin forbid you actually try to understand where she's coming from, the kind of pressure she's under—"

"Oh, spare me the sob story, Meathead," Minerva snapped, temper flaring. "I know exactly where she's coming from - a place of entitlement and arrogance, just like every other cocky athlete who thinks the rules don't apply to them!"

Archie recoiled as if she'd slapped him, hurt and anger flashing in his russet eyes. "Wow. Tell me how you really feel, Ever-lame. I guess some things never change. You're still the same stuck-up, holier-than-thou priss you were in school, always looking down your nose at anyone who dared to have interests outside of books and broomstick polish."

Minerva sucked in a sharp breath, refusing to let his words hurt her. "And you're still the same arrogant, bullheaded Neanderthal, looking for an easy way out.”

They glared at each other.

This was a disaster. What had she been thinking, agreeing to this dinner? She'd let herself be swayed by a handsome face and a sly smile, had almost believed there could be something real between them.

But at the end of the day, Archie Hawthorne only cared about one thing - winning. And if that meant steamrollering over her principles and objections, so be it.

Abruptly, Minerva pushed back from the table, snatching up her handbag. "You know what? I think we're done here. Thank you for dinner, Coach, but I'll be taking my leave now. And you can rest assured that my stance on Miss Nightshade's academic performance remains unchanged."

Archie's expression shuttered, lips thinning into a hard line. "Fine. But this isn't over. I'll do whatever it takes to make sure my team has a shot at that trophy, with or without your cooperation."

Minerva stalked out of the restaurant, head held high even as tears of frustration and disappointment burned her eyes. She should've known better than to trust the charming words of a snake-oil salesman like Archie Hawthorne. All he'd wanted was to get back in her good graces long enough to secure a free pass for his precious star player. He could take his insufferable smirk and unnervingly firm ass and go stuff them in a vanishing cabinet for all she cared.

As Minerva drove home, she couldn't help but feel a pang of regret for what might have been. But then she remembered the steely glint in Archie's eyes as he'd issued his little ultimatum, and her resolve hardened. If Meathead wanted a war, he'd get one. Grimm Mawr Academy was about to become a battleground, and Minerva Everhart had no intention of losing.