Page 245 of Coach
“Good hustle today. Tell your parents we’ll be late again tomorrow.”
A collective groan rose from the boys in acknowledgement of another long, hard practice to come.
I grinned. “Come on, guys. You know we love spending quality time with you.”
“You just love killing us,” a voice I couldn’t identify quipped.
My grin grew. “I can’t kill you before Friday night’s game. After that, we’ll see.”
A few of the guys laughed. Most groaned again.
“Go on. Get cleaned up and get some rest. Stay hydrated. Remember, what you put in your body the night before determines a day’s result.”
“Yes, Coach,” the chorus intoned before my pack of gangly wolves sluffed off to the locker room.
“We’re ready,” Ryan said only loud enough for me to hear.
“For game one, the easy night. We’re a long way from playoff ready.”
“One game at a time, remember?” Ryan nudgedme with his elbow. “That’s what you told me last season.”
I was about to say something snarky, just to hear the colorful stream of profanities flow from his mouth, when I noticed my phone screen light up. We had a “no phones” policy during practice, so I hadn’t heard it chime—four times.
“Somebody’s popular,” Ryan said. “New man in your life?”
“New something,” was all I could think to say. Giving Ryan any information was beyond dangerous. I grabbed my clipboard, towel, and phone and turned toward the door. “I’ll catch you tomorrow.”
Two strides into the parking lot, I flicked the screen and flashed it my face to unlock.
Flannel Daddy:Hey.
Flannel Daddy:You’ve been quiet.
Flannel Daddy:Working?
Flannel Daddy:Never mind.
Okay, that was weird, even for Shane.
Clearly, I’d crossed his mind. That made my heart race. Still, his message sounded . . . strained? That wasn’t the right word. It felt so . . . distant.
I laughed as I reached my car. To say the gentle giant was aloof or mysteriously quiet was akin to calling the fire hot or water wet. “Distant” was Shane’s love language.
Without thinking, my fingers began to type.
Me:Just finished practice. Our first game is Friday night. We’re racing against time to whip these kids into shape. Sorry if I’ve been super busy.
Super busy? What teenage girl said that? I could hear the valley girl voice in my head lisping out the word “super.” God, I was bad at this . . . this . . . whatever the hellthiswas. Shane and I talked most days, but we hadn’t seen each other since our dinner date. He’d picked up a large order from a super rich (ack, I did it again) family that had kept him locked in his shop fourteen hours each day, and I was buried beneath basketballs and teenage angst.
I could still feel his hardened muscles pressed against my body, taste the tang of his tongue as it teased against my own. We’d come so close to doing everything, but I was glad we’d held back. Some things deserved their proper time and place. Having another man inside me, that was one of those things. But fuck me if I hadn’t dreamed about it almostevery night since.
Flannel Daddy:Right. Big game this week. At home?
Me:Yep. We always open at home and against this same team. We should crush them like bugs, but you never know until we play the game.
Flannel Daddy:Right.
I sat in my car and watched the screen, waiting for more. Surely, he wasn’t ending our conversation there. He wasn’t a talker, but still . . .
