Page 69 of Coach
“I don’t know,” I said, my voice shrinking into the tiny ball I felt like in that moment. “Shane is just so . . . so big and strong and . . . stern? I mean, other than his muscles and abs and chiseled jaw, he’s not my normal type.”
“Other than all the hot parts? What’s left?” Matty asked.
I rolled my eyes. “He’s just so weird. That’s not what I mean. He’s not weird; he’s reserved, like stone statue reserved. I think I’ve seen him smile twice now, and neither of those was on purpose. And shit, he can’t seem to say more than two words without needing to take a break. It’s as though communicating is torture.”
“And this draws you to him?” Omar asked, his tone contemplative rather than teasing.
“I . . . well . . . maybe. I don’t know.” I ran a hand through my hair and stared at the center of the table, avoiding every gaze focused on me. “I see something there, something underneath all that hardness—”
Matty giggled.
Omar elbowed him. Sisi grinned and winked, sharing a look with Matty.
I ignored them. “He’s a nice guy, and there’s something about him that just . . . just makes me want to see him again. I can’t explain it.”
“But why does all that make you turn so shy and babbly and, I don’t know, like Mike?” Sisi asked.
I grinned at the reference to my favorite ginger. He was a disaster when he got flustered, and it was adorable.
It was my turn to shrug. “He just makes me nervous. Shit, I’ve coached in the State Championships, played in the NCAA Tournament three times. I’ve felt pressure most people will never understand. Why does this one guy make me feel like a six-year-old who’s afraid of the dark?”
Omar’s smile was gentle, his eyes kind. “Just be you, Mateo. You’re one of the most amazing guys I know. If he doesn’t see that, he’s not worth your time.”
“Hear, hear,” Matty said, clapping the fingertips of one hand on the palm of the other. “What my sexy little Brit said.”
Sisi, for once in her existence, remained quiet.
“You’re freaking me out, Sisi,” I said. “What?”
She stared down at her folded hands a moment, then shook herself and glanced up. “Do what makes you happy, Mateo. If chasing this emotionally unavailable brute floats your boat, go for it. Just keep your eyes open, all right? We’re the ones who will have to pick up the pieces if he shatters your sweet, basil-and-ricotta-filled heart.”
“Basil and ricotta—?”
Matty shot forward, eyes electric. “Maybe you just want to see the rest ofhis hardness.”
“His massive plank of wood,” Omar added.
“His mighty oak, if I remember correctly,” Sisi piled on.
I dropped my head onto the table with a thud and wished for an asteroid to strike Earth.
Chapter 22
Shane
“Am I supposed to reach out or keep waiting?”
Stevie sat at a workbench, scribbling notes into a ledger filled with numbers. Watching her click away at her calculator and make entries into that eternal stream of digits reminded me why she was so important to my business. Without her, I would spend half my life buried in spreadsheets and accounting programs rather than focusing on what brought in customers, the woodwork. Stevie was a great business partner.
But she was an even better friend—as much as I hated to admit it sometimes.
She finished whatever voodoo math thing she’d been working on and glanced up.
“What are you babbling about, and why don’t I hear the planer scraping against that piece of wood?”
“You’re so bossy today.” I grinned, shaking myplaner in her direction.
She tapped the eraser end of her pencil against her temple. “I’m working . . . and thinking. Thinking and working. You should try it.”
