Page 25 of Coaching Prince Charming

By the time I returned to the hotel, the seed of a single thought had sprouted into a compulsion. As I entered the lobby, I was growing more certain of what I couldn’t keep doing. I just couldn’t. Not for all the money in the world. Not for all of my father’s conditional love.

I sat on a small, elegant chair in the lobby and pulled my phone out. After watching the video on Ron’s profile, I knew what to do next. And until I began typing it, I didn’t realize that the entire message I wanted to write was already penned to the last dot in my brain. It was the easiest email of my life.

I stepped out of the elevator and halted. In front of me, his broad back was packed in a tight black shirt, his narrow waist calling me to wrap my arms around him, and his firm ass was hugged by the perfectly fitting pair of dark gray pants. Nate Partridge. The man who had a million reasons to push me away, none of which had anything to do with not wanting me.

He was shoveling ice into a metal bucket when I cleared my throat. “Getting our asses kicked is thirsty business,” I said.

He looked over his shoulder, a knowing smirk on his face.

“Are you having champagne?” I asked.

“Whiskey,” he said. “On the rocks.”

I shuddered. “I don’t have what it takes to drink those.”

“Good. I wasn’t going to offer any.” He narrowed his eyes in playful suspicion. “Shouldn’t you be with the team?”

“I quit the team,” I said before I knew I would. Oddly enough, my coach was the only person I could tell this to. He was the only person who would understand, even if he pretended we had nothing in common.

“Carter,” he whispered as he turned to me. The ice bucket was half-full. I doubted he could drink so much whiskey unless he planned to pass out, but that wasn’t the Nate I knew. “Are you sure you wanted this?” He didn’t say it in a way that suggested I was rushing — far from it. He was simply asking, one adult to another.

I nodded. “Absolutely.” The fear that rippled through me must have shown on my face. Nate frowned, but I spoke before he could. “It’s funny. I couldn’t get rid of this need to quit it. So much of it feels wrong to me that I can’t believe I even played tonight.” After a moment of silence, I added, “Thanks for pulling me. I wasn’t enjoying it.”

“It’s official?” Nate asked, leaning against the wall.

“I emailed the administration office half an hour ago. They’ll see it in the morning, and I’ll be off the team when they process my request for transfer.” I hadn’t realized how detailed my plans had been until I filed the request. I knew which subjects to drop and which to take on. The semester was still only starting, and it wasn’t too late to change subjects with most of the professors. I had checked those dates weeks ago with no clear plan in my mind. It wasn’t just luck. “Your ice is melting, Nate.”

He looked at the bucket and cursed under his breath. “Let me drop this off.” He walked away from me, but I followed.

My fingertips tingled as I walked after him. The floor beneath my feet felt like sponge or wool, like clouds. I walked despite knowing what he would tell me. But how bad could it be? He would send me away. Nothing new there. I was becoming an expert at being rejected.

Tonight was the night to reach for all the things I doubted could be mine.

Nate must have heard my footsteps trailing him, but he didn’t look over his shoulder. His slow trodding down the hallway only added to the suspense, but it wasn’t the scary kind. My chest felt light, as if someone had filled my lungs with helium, and I teetered on the verge of floating away.

He swiped his card key, and the lock clicked on the heavy wooden door. He pushed it, his arm flexing in the tight shirt, and stepped inside. When he pushed the card key into the slot by the door, dim lights came on.

My fingers trembled when I held the door and let myself inside. Any moment now, he would sigh and tell me to go away. He would remind me who my father was to him, act like he was a hundred years old, and tell me how inappropriate this was. I didn’t care. I was quitting things left and right. I might as well quit listening to Nate’s faulty logic. Plenty of guys a decade older than him dated girls my age. Nobody cared. What was so different about us, then?

Until he told me he didn’t want anything to do with me, I held on to hope.

The door shut behind my back. “Nice room,” I said, looking around. The room was not a room at all but an apartment. Students had their quarters on the same floor but in another wing. Each room had two beds and the bare necessities. Not Nate’s. And I knew this wasn’t coming from Northwood’s budget but his own pocket. No college coach would want this.

The elegantly decorated interior of the living room was lit by discreetly placed lamps. Armchairs and a sofa surrounded a sleek coffee table made of dark wood. A large, black TV was mounted onto the wall to my left, and around it were shelves holding various pieces of decoration and books. Two doors were on each side of the wall to my right, one open, revealing a neatly made large bed, and the other shut. I assumed it was the bathroom unless Nate Partridge had a private sauna.

The idea made my heart skip. I wouldn’t have minded going into a sauna with him.

“It’s much nicer than my own place,” Nate agreed. “I keep forgetting to decorate.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” I said.

He put the bucket of ice into the minifridge after tossing a couple of cubes into a glass. He didn’t look at me once while pouring himself a shot of whiskey. After his drink was ready, he bent down to the mini fridge and produced a Diet Coke for me. Finally, he turned to face me as he handed me the can.

“What’s your plan?” he asked.

I knew he wasn’t asking me about my plans for the evening. And if he had, I wouldn’t have revealed them. They depended on each decision we made and each word we shared from now until later. “General courses this semester. I’ll study hard and make the professors notice me. I’ve never been classically trained, so I’ll take some music theory classes privately to prepare myself for next semester. Hopefully, I can impress someone enough to bend the rules a little. If not, I’ll just wait for next fall and start over. I don’t mind losing a year.” I cracked the can open and sipped my soda while Nate carried his glass to the coffee table and seated himself on the sofa. I followed carefully, wondering if sitting next to him was too forward. What else can he do to me? I risked it even as my heart lurched. “I’ll play any gig I can get.”

Nate listened to me. He didn’t poke holes in my plan, even though we both knew a lot depended on luck. He didn’t discourage me. He didn’t act like I was sharing some childish dreams with him. “Rigby did well with that video,” he suggested after a time, his gaze on my eyes so intense that I swore I could feel its weight.

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