Page 243 of Coach
“Or the whole troupe from Thunder From Down Under. You like Aussies. I bet six of them could tear you a new—”
“Stevie!”
“You might not walk straight for a week.” She grinned. “Or do you prefer to be on the other end of business? Are you a poke-er rather than a poke-ee? I can’t believe we’ve never talked about any of this. In all our years together—”
“And we’re not talking about it now!”
“Aw, come on, Shane. Talk to me about your giant cock and dripping man pussy.”
I made a throwing-up sound and covered my mouth.
“Did he drill, baby, drill? Can you still feel him? Are you walking around pinching your cheeks to keep his kids from roaming free in the dark, unwelcoming world?”
“Holy fuck, Stevie.” I covered my head with a palm, wishing I had longer hair so I could yank it out. “We didn’t even go all the way.”
Her eyes popped wide. “So, all this mooning is from a little sucky-sucky? Did you at least stick a finger up his ass? Make him think of you when he takes a dump?”
“You might be the most disgusting woman I’ve ever met.”
“I’m a lesbian. I eat raw fish for fun and use the leftover pubes for dental floss. You do the math.” She barked a laugh that sounded more like a walrus clearing phlegm than any human amusement I’d ever heard.
“Just tell me this,” she said, her voice sobering. “This wasn’t some pickup at a bar, was it? You wouldn’t be fawning like a teenager in heat over a random fuck, would you?”
“Mateo isn’t a random anything!” I snapped. Then, realizing I’d snapped, I covered my mouth.
Stevie’s hand rose to cover her mouth at the exact same time.
Had I not been so terrified by what I’d just said, the whole thing would’ve been hysterical. As it was, I struggled to maintain eye contact with my nosey, pushy, annoyingly perceptive work wife.
“Oh, shit,” she whispered. “You’ve got it bad for this dude.”
“I do not,” I grumbled, refusing to acknowledge the truth of her words.
She glared, an evil gleam sparking to life in her cold, bitter eyes.
“Is this Mr. Sideboard? The one with the accent and curls?”
“How do you know about his curls?” I asked.
She shrugged. “You can run, but you can’t hide. You should know this by now.”
“God, I hate you.”
“Whatever, Mary. You do you. I’ll be in the house doing your damned books while you’re out here prepping for yourAmerican Idolaudition. When you get a break, come remind me why I love my job. I need a fucking daily affirmation to complement my sparkling personality.”
“Yes, dear,” I said, turning back to my work and chuckling at the idea of anything about Stevie described as “sparkling.”
Before the door clicked shut, my mind had returned to dreamy eyes and olive skin, and the lead singer of Journey was wailing almost as loudly as I was.
Chapter 29
Mateo
The next couple of weeks passed in a blur. With tryouts complete, the team was in its annual sprint toward the opening night of the season, a game against one of our school’s chief rivals—a team we hadn’t lost to in over thirty years. There were no expectations for our first contest beyond utter domination and decimation. That was all.
“Feet!” my assistant coach, Ryan, bellowed from the opposite side of the court, where he ran drills tougher than any Army sergeant. “Move your fu—” He paused. “Move your feet!”
I blew out a breath. Ryan had the mouth of a sailor. I’d asked him to control it, especially in front of the kids, but words slipped out like a lover in the night, sometimes like one leaving through the front door in daylight. Yeah, like that.
