Page 205 of Coach
A moment passed. I didn’t dare turn to look at her. I couldhearher puzzling things out.
“Oh, shit,” she said suddenly, the sound of her hand slapping to cover her mouth spinning mearound on my stool. “You’re making . . . whatever this is . . .for him.”
“I am not,” I groused, crossing my arms. My head lowered, sawdust on the floor becoming the most interesting thing in the world. “Okay, fine, yes. I’m making something for him.”
She blinked wide eyes several times, her hand remaining over her mouth. “No fucking way. What have you done with my Shane? Did you bury him out back and all that’s left is a straw poking out of the ground so he can breathe? Is he at least alive?”
“Fuck off.”
Her hand fell, revealing a ridiculously wide grin.
“Your date’s tonight, isn’t it?”
I nodded.
“I guess . . . he’s cooking and . . . I don’t know . . . I wanted to bring him something, like a housewarming gift or a trinket to say thank you for feeding me. It’s polite, isn’t it, to bring a gift when you’re invited into someone’s home? That’s a thing, right?”
That might’ve been more words in one breath than I’d spoken to anyone in years.
She glared.
“Wine is a gift. A cheese board would work. Hell, Shane, a simple card would do the trick.” She surveyed the wooden wasteland. “You’remakinghim something. That’s the act of a guy who’s . . . a guywho’s caught feelings.”
“Feelings aren’t the flu.”
“Have you met yourself?” She snort-laughed. “I’m not sure you’ve had feelings since the eighties—and that was before you were born.”
I rolled my eyes and spun so my back faced her again.
The warmth of her hand pressed into my shoulder.
“I think it’s sweet. I mean, you know me, I hate sweet things. But you’re a gay guy, and you’re supposed to be a little fruity.”
I groaned. “I am not fucking fruity.”
She snorted again. “Whatever. Just—”
Ding.
My phone.
Neither of us moved.
“Well, are you going to check it, or do I have to crack your password?”
Reluctantly, I reached over and grabbed my phone, flicking the screen to life.
M. Ricci:Hey. I have shitty news. One of my kids got hurt at practice. I’m at the hospital with him and his parents. Looks like we’re going to be here a while.
M. Ricci:I’m so sorry. I was making something awesome for dinner tonight.
I slumped down on my stool.
“What?” Stevie asked.
“He’s canceling.”
She blew out a low breath.
