Page 9 of Coaching Prince Charming

I swallowed and held my breath. As Carter pulled his shorts down, I looked away. It was one thing to notice an athlete’s definition and another to look at him changing. He’d turned away from me for a reason. I wasn’t going to violate that.

As I turned my back to him, I looked for my locker’s key in the pockets of the sweaty shorts I held in one hand. When I found it, I faced the lockers and opened mine, acting busy. In the periphery of my vision, however, Carter wasn’t moving at all.

Rummaging through my locker, I battled my indecision. To change or not to change? It was almost laughable. My gaze darted briefly to my right, seeing clearly that Carter was now facing me. He stood still in his underwear. Though I didn’t let myself look, I couldn’t escape noticing that they were dark green with a white waistband.

Following my glance, I turned my head and looked into his eyes, my hands resting on the edge of the locker. Even without looking, I could tell his pecs were rounded and firm, his stomach ridged with abs, and his waist narrow.

“I always thought they photoshopped you a little on those magazine covers,” he said. I wasn’t sure if he was joking. The frown that creased my brow prompted a laugh from him. “I figured they had to. They do that to models, you know?”

“I’m not a model,” I said, voice dry for some reason. The tension that soared in my chest was probably not proportionate to the tension in the room. This was just a kid letting his mouth run wild. It didn’t mean anything. Even so, I would rather have avoided talking about my body with a nineteen-year-old guy in the locker room while wearing nothing but a towel.

“And it looks like they didn’t airbrush you, either,” he said, broadening his smile.

“Carter.” I tried to firm up my voice. Paranoia had been running unchecked in my head since the accident, and I was beginning to worry that Carter had some suspicions. As if anyone would still matter which gender you’re sleeping with. Your career is over, old man. My face stiffened at my own thoughts.

Carter cut me off before I could tell him to stop. “I’m trying to say that it’s inspiring, Coach. You want us inspired, right?”

I licked my lips clumsily. Why was it so hard to get my thoughts in order? I must have dehydrated myself during the workout. “I suppose I do.”

“You’re doing a good job, then.” He put his hands on his hips. Was he showing off his biceps? They constricted even though his gesture didn’t seem to ask for it. “I work out nearly every day, but I don’t think I can look like that. Not with my routine, at least.”

The kid’s just looking for advice, I told myself before letting my gaze run over his body. “What’s your routine?” I asked coolly. If I didn’t act scared of seeing an attractive person, it wouldn’t be weird. I crossed my arms, and Carter looked at my arms.

“Short cardio warm-up, then the three-group split,” he said. “I mostly do free weights unless I have to use the machine. It helps with core strength and stability.” He went on to describe a fairly standard workout routine that any personal trainer might devise for their clients. He tracked the weights religiously and measured the results in an elaborate spreadsheet that he promised to show me, even when I insisted it wasn’t necessary. He targeted particular muscle groups when he felt they weren’t getting enough attention.

Throughout it all, I struggled to keep my eyes on his face. Often, he would turn around and press his fingers on a certain spot on his back to show me what he felt was wrong. Once, he hooked his fingers at the bottom seams of his underwear and pulled them up, explaining what he disliked about his quads. His hand sometimes moved over his abs, but he didn’t seem to notice it. And when he took a step toward me, asking me to put a hand on the outer side of his chest, I leaped back like a demon he sprinkled with holy water.

“It’s not necessary,” I blurted, my heart rate spiking. “Your routine’s fine, Carter. Do you consume enough protein?”

He pulled a step back and took a moment to gather himself. He licked his lips, and I hated how shiny they were afterward. “I do. I track that, too. I try to be in a big calorie surplus every day with the macros the app calculated, but I’m not growing like I used to.”

I tightened the grip my arms had on my torso and sighed. “There are a few reasons why the growth slows. I’m not a nutritionist, by the way, but it sounds to me like you’re wasting some of your reps. It’d be wiser to cut down on fancy stuff and stick with the basics.” After a moment of hesitation, I said the more important thing, not because I wanted to but because he needed to hear it. “There’s nothing wrong with the way you look, Carter. You’re young and healthy, and you’re built like an athlete. Your performance won’t be any better if you bulk up, and I don’t think you have secret bodybuilding ambitions.” If anything, the kid’s got artistic ambitions, I thought. “I believe you’re imagining most of what you think your body lacks. And purely for aesthetic reasons. Am I right?”

His lips tightened for a moment so brief that I wasn’t sure it had even happened.

I let him off the hook and spoke on. “You look fine, Carter.”

“You think?” I wished he didn’t sound so insecure just then. Two words, but they shoved a dagger into my chest. How do you prove to a nineteen-year-old that he’s attractive when he’s convinced otherwise?

“Don’t let your insecurities dictate your life, kid,” I said. “Your body’s perfect as it is.”

I regretted those words when Carter’s face turned a shade more pink. “Don’t call me that, Coach. Not you.” He smiled before turning to his locker and pulling out a pair of very short shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt. As he dressed, we let the silence creep in, and it was a relief. In my imagination, the green training attire combined with his red cheeks made him look like a rosebud.

I didn’t know how to talk to these young guys. I didn’t know which things not to say. Hell, I barely knew the language some of them spoke these days. Carter spoke like an old-school guy, but I’d still embarrassed him.

I had to remind myself that he was, after all, just a college freshman, despite being an old soul with an affinity for the arts. I also had to remember that he was a gay kid who’d come out to a lukewarm reception in his own home. That must have affected the way he saw himself. God knew I had been riddled with insecurities my entire life because I felt this driving need to compensate. The sense of wrongness in my desires had caused a lifetime of fighting to feel like I was good enough.

When he was dressed, he looked at me again. “I better get started before the crowd arrives,” he said.

“That’s why you’re here at the crack of dawn, huh?” I slowly lifted some of my clean clothes out of the locker.

“Not a fan of big groups,” he said and moved to pass by my side. He slowed down, shoulder to shoulder, although he was nearly a head shorter than me. “Thanks for the chat, Coach. It helps.”

As he walked away, I stayed wondering whether I’d embarrassed him at all or if the talk helped. Or was he just polite? I didn’t know much about anything, I decided, and finally put some underwear on. My phone dinged with the unique notification sound that made my heart leap. Fucking idiot! I’d forgotten to silence it this morning after browsing that goddamn app, and now some Grindr user was hitting me up. I looked over my shoulder, but Carter was gone already.

My days were generally uneventful. Today was no different, aside from running into Carter Prince in the locker room, for which I reprimanded myself later. If I had any sense in my old head, I would search for another gym to visit in my insomnia-fueled escape from boredom. Coming to this one was like asking for problems.

And while I kept Carter firmly out of my thoughts for most of the day — charting out this season’s plans with the assistant coaches was a good distraction — it was harder to ignore him during the drills. Seeing him in his full gear, moving swiftly between the players, and exhibiting a great deal of Dana’s unique moves and traits tickled some images from our dawn encounter. Having to keep my eyes on his body as he glided across the smooth ice certainly didn’t help me forget what he looked like in those green boxers.

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