Page 221 of Coach
“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.”
“See!” Omar pointed across the table. “You hear things that aren’t there. You just admitted it!”
“Guys!” I raised my fork like a crossing guard’s stop sign. “Can we get back to my noggin’ kiss?”
Matty beamed. “Noggin’ love. I love it. It’s very face-forward.”
Sisi cackled. “Face-forward. That’s good, Matty. You win that one.”
I groaned. Talking to them was useless.
“Fine,” Sisi surrendered, reaching over and gripping my hand. “Talk to Auntie Sisi. Did he do anything else? Brush your hair back? Stare longingly?”
“Grab your junk?” Matty chimed in.
I threw my head back on the booth’s cushions. “There was no junk grabbing!”
The waiter chose that exact moment to arrive. His wide eyes and amused grin made me want to run out the door and scream at the world. Matty and Sisi grinned up at him and winked—in unison. A dual wink. Jesus, save me.
When the curious server vanished again, I offered, “He did press his shoulder to mine most of the night.”
“There were six of us in a booth for four. That means nothing,” Matty declared.
“Fine.” I pouted. “His hand brushed mine a few times.”
Sisi leaned in. “Intentionally? Like fingers searching for a hidden gem? Or accidentally, where he yanked back like he’d just touched a hot stove?”
I thought a moment. “No, there wasn’t any yanking back. It felt . . . like his pinky wandered away from the pack to explore the back of my hand.”
