Page 116 of Whistle

“Dean Cardinal thought it would be good because you’re so popular with the staff and around Westbrook. And you know you’re single and?—”

“Ready to mingle!” someone shouted.

Ryan laughed. “Yeah, that.”

“No,” Coach deadpanned.

“Aww, come on, Coach,” Wes prodded.

“It’s for charity,” Landry put in.

Nearby, Lars nodded.

I know I was trying not to hate him, but this just didn’t help.

“Coach. Coach. Coach. Coach. Coach. Coach.” The chanting filled the natatorium until my stomach was in knots, and I wanted to throw myself in front of him and scream mine!

A fast blip of the whistle and everyone fell quiet. Coach looked at Ryan. “The dean really wants this?”

Ryan nodded. “Elite honor,” he said, laying a hand over his bare chest.

Coach’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “Fine.”

Everyone cheered and yelled, excitement sweeping the room. But I wasn’t excited. I was hurt. And when I was hurt… I got angry.

Remember when I said this team was entertaining? Being dipped in honey and hung naked over a giant red ant pile would be more fun than this.

“Come see me in the locker room if you want to volunteer,” Ryan called.

Coach dismissed everyone to the showers.

I waited until most of the group was already inside and then started forward.

“Lawson,” Coach called when I walked by.

I kept walking.

Phweeeeeee! “Bodhi Lawson. Over here. Now.”

My stomach dipped, a fluttery sensation unfurling inside me. I hated yet still couldn’t suppress the small flicker of hope in me that he was calling me over to apologize. To reassure me that he only agreed because everyone was chanting and cheering. That he was going to tell me even after a week of nothing but lingering glances that I was still who he wanted and that he’d never go out on a date—even a fake one—with anyone.

My bare feet slapped the tile, toes recoiling at the pool water they met as I walked to where he waited. I stopped about an arm’s distance away, and silence dropped between us like an anvil.

I waited, throat tight as I anticipated the words I so badly wanted to hear. He stared at me from beneath that damn hat almost as though he’d forgotten he was the one who’d called me over.

“We need to talk.” His voice was low.

I nodded. “I’ll meet you in your office.”

“No,” he was quick to say. “Here is fine.”

Hurt cut through me like a hot knife in butter. Does he not want to be alone with me?

“How was your first therapy session?”

Disappointment assailed me. Already filled to the brim with so much, I curled my lip. “You mean you didn’t call over there and ask for a full report?”

He made a face. “Of course not. Therapy is private.”

---