Page 28 of Coach
And just like that, we had a date.
Chapter 10
Shane
Istood in front of the closet wearing nothing but a towel and a scowl.
Water dripped from my hair, down the back of my neck, and onto the floor I’d mopped just that morning. I ignored it—the same way I was ignoring the clothes in front of me like they were part of some advanced tactical puzzle I didn’t remember learning how to solve.
I’d been staring for ten full minutes.
Shirts hung before me, smug and useless.
I pulled out a plaid flannel long-sleeve, my go-to for pretty much any occasion more formal than a workout at the gym. It was blue with brown lines . . . or whatever they’re called in plaid speak. It was too dark, too plain, too . . . me.
I tossed it on the bed.
Turning, I grabbed the shirt that hung beside its discarded brother. It was plaid, too. Also flannel,but this one was different—brown with blue lines. I chucked it toward the bed, missing by a country mile to watch it smack into the window and fall to the floor.
It was ugly.
It deserved the floor.
Something darker called to me from a few shirts down the line, a solid black button-down I wore to funerals, a shirt that also had a faint paint stain near the hem.
Was it dressy casual or murder scene chic?
Hell if I knew.
It wasn’t like I dated. Not in a let-me-open-the-door-for-you-and-hope-we-both-don’t-choke-on-small-talk kind of way. Outside of servicing my customers and dealing with Stevie, I rarely even peopled.
Leaving the house took effort.
Dealing with other humans took even more.
I was about three minutes from giving up and driving to Decatur in the towel and dripping hair when my phone caught my eye. I grabbed it and hit Stevie’s image on my phone’s favorites.
She was the only image on my favorites page, my only favorite.
She picked up on the second ring.
“Well, well,” she said, voice already thick withmischief. “If it isn’t my favorite socially stunted hermit. To what do I owe a call outside of working hours? Break something large and wooden? Better yet, yank your own wood and want to brag about it? Got a video for me? I might prefer to muff dive, but I can appreciate a good tool when I see one. We are in the business, after all.”
“No, God no.” I sighed. “I need help.”
“Are you dying?”
“No.”
“Is the shop on fire?”
“No.”
“Are you—” She gasped, loud and dramatic. “Are you consideringpeopling?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and muttered, “I have . . . a thing.”
There was a pause.
