Page 60 of Whistle

“Arsen,” I said, remembering his name.

“Why were you looking at his pants?”

“They made his ass look good.”

Red splotches appeared on his cheeks, a bright contrast to the dark stubble covering his jaws. “Get out of my office.”

“I thought you were giving me a list of rules,” I said, positively serene.

“Rule six?—”

“We were on seven.” I corrected him.

He inhaled so deep that his nostrils flared, and when he exhaled, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “Seven,” he amended. “Stay the hell out of trouble.”

Grabbing a strand of hair, I coiled it around my finger. “I make no promises.”

He pointed to his door. “Go.”

Before stepping through the doorway, I turned back, taking in his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and buzzed dark head. A lump caught in my throat, and the urge to rush him assailed me.

Almost as if he felt the shift, his eyes met mine. The space between us seemed to shrink, and there was a tug in the center of my chest.

But I’d had enough today. Vulnerability and rejection stung like open cuts.

“Thanks for the address, Coach,” I said, waving the paper. “I’ll have my stuff gone before you get home.”

Something passed over his face, but I didn’t hang around to figure it out. I went off to get my three measly bags and go somewhere else I probably wasn’t wanted either.

15

Coach (Emmett)

Three days.

This little shit had been avoiding me for three days. Letting my calls go to voicemail. Leaving my texts on read. Not showing up for practice.

Phweeeeee!

Phweeeeeeeee!

“Knox, did you grow a third limb?” I roared. “Do better!”

“Sanchez, you might as well just go to the nursing home down the street for water aerobics because that’s all you’re good for!”

“I got a cramp, Coach!”

“Bullshit! The lane lines have better form than you!”

Phweeee—

The whistle was plucked out of my mouth, the stream of air I expelled going nowhere. I whipped around, ready to blister whoever dared touch my whistle, and met the green eyes of my daughter.

“Landry.” I was gruff. “You should be watching the lanes.”

“Kinda hard to do when you’re over here madder than a mosquito in a mannequin factory.”

“Good one, L!”

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