Page 66 of Coach
What if he hated it? What if he hated me despite his words?
What if he thought I only liked him in theadorable pet store puppysort of way and not theactual feelings, actual dangerway?
And what the fuck did I actually feel about this guy? In all my worries about his feelings, I hadn’t dared explore my own. Looking inside myself invoked a different terror, one far more deep and dark. It was like that horrible childhood nightmare no one wanted to revisit.
God, I was not good at this.
I panicked.
I didn’t look back as I climbed into my truck, slammed the door behind me, and turned the key as quickly as my fingers would move.
As I drove away, I saw him in the rearview mirror.
He stood there like I’d just dropped a plot twist on him he hadn’t prepared for. His body was rigid, his face still froze, like a bug in amber. Slowly, his hand raised in a weak, stunned wave.
I drove off with my heart still stuck in my throat, and the shape of his smile burning behind my eyes.
Chapter 21
Mateo
“Your what?” Sisi gaped.
“Myforehead. He kissed my forehead,” I said, unsure whether to puff my chest out or slink away.
“What are you, eight? Did he offer to tuck you in, too? Change your nappy?” she needled.
“He might like his nappy changed. You know, that’s a thing. They call them Littles,” Omar added, trying to be helpful but coming across as a Sisi-adjacent snarky bitch.
My palms covered my face. “It was sweet, guys. He kissed me. Can we just be happy here?”
“You asked us what it means,” Matty said, his accusing forefinger waving through the air like a fencer’s blade. “We are merely exploring the possibilities. I will admit, the signs are usually much easier to read. This Shane character is throwing off myinner Martha Stewart.”
Omar laughed. “Are you trying to read the message in a kiss or plant a rosebush up his ass?”
I had to swallow hard lest I spew coffee across the table. Omar wasn’t quiet or reserved, but he kept his zingers close until he needed them. ThenBAM. You never quite saw them—or him—coming.
I looked around the table.
Matty, Omar, and Sisi were the only members of our tribe who could make our traditional brunch. Elliot had to work, and I wasn’t sure what Mike was up to, but he’d begged out, too. Knowing him, he was likely planning some elaborate meal that would endanger his entire neighborhood’s safety. He was a weapon of mass destruction in the kitchen, but he was cute, and he tried.
Ours was an odd mix that morning, the three nurses and the coach. Thankfully, none of the medical peeps chose to talk shop. With the three of them together, it would’ve been easy for our meal to morph into a bad episode ofER, with me sitting on the outside looking in.
Instead, our morning had evolved—quickly—into a “what the hell is with Shane?” conversation. I might’ve been safer with funny ER tales.
“Guys!” I said a little too loudly, earning glares from six eyes. “What does it mean? Does he like meor not? I’ve never had a first kiss on my forehead. There’s no manual or script for this.”
Matty chuckled. “Honey child, there’s no manual for love.”
“Definitely not for you gays,” Sisi added. “Y’all are a mess.”
“Don’t make me start on you women,” Omar said, flexing his LGBTQIA+ card—the one with all the letters no one quite understands. “You take ‘reading between lines’ to a whole different level.”
“There are lines?” Matty asked. “What lines?”
“Exactly.” Omar nodded.
Sisi rolled her eyes. “Just because you men are tone-deaf doesn’t mean there isn’t music playing.”
