Page 275 of Coach
Shane lowered into the seat beside me, still shaking his head but looking far more amused than annoyed. I caught a little glance he gave me as he settled in, a soft flicker of something in his eyes that made my chest go warm.
Then he reached over, grabbed my hand, and wove his fingers with mine. I wanted to shout to the entire audience that Shane Douglas was holding my hand—and he might be my boyfriend, a little, sort of, in a wild-monkey-sex-hand-holding sort of way.
Yeah, the night was off to a ridiculous start.
And honestly?
Whether I was willing to admit it or not, I was loving every second of it.
Drinks arrived.
Drinks vanished.
More drinks arrived.
And so on.
By the time the warmup act finished hyping up the crowd, we were shitfaced and giggling like schoolgirls at anything anyone said. Hell, the waiter could’ve read the menu and we would’ve found it hilarious. It didn’t matter what material was used that night, we’d leave thinking it was the funniest show ever.
Shane hadn’t let go of my hand.
Not once.
The warmup act vanished behind the curtain.
The lights brightened for a moment, long enough for servers to deliver drinks and retrieve glasses.
Then the lights dimmed again.
A wave of electricity rippled through the crowd as a booming voice filled the club. “Ladies and gentlemen . . . give it up for MATT RIFE!”
The crowd erupted.
I meanerupted.
People whooped, stomped, and cheered like they’d just won the lottery. The woman two tables over knocked over her martini, screaming his name. One of the bachelorette party shouted an offer that involved her bra, panties, and a margarita.
Shane leaned toward me and whispered, “Must be a popular guy.”
I grinned. “You have no idea.”
Matt jogged onstage, lean and grinning, dressed inblack jeans and a fitted tee that clung to all the right places. The man was pure charisma—swagger without arrogance and sharp eyes that missed nothing.
He grabbed the mic and paced a few steps. “Damn! You guys ready to have fun tonight, or what?”
More cheers.
“Good.” He smirked. “Because I am tired.”
A round of confused chuckles.
“I’ve been doing shows five nights a week, and my manager still thinks I can do CrossFit after this. Like, bro—I lift one bad Yelp review and I’m sore for three days.”
Polite laughter.
“Let’s do something different. Rather than starting with me, let’s start with you.” He grinned wider. “Who’ve we got tonight . . .”
And then the room tensed the way it always did when a comedian started exploring the crowd. Matt’s eyes scanned left and locked onto a table three over from us—from the look of them, a straight couple, both early forties, the guy wearing an aggressively pink polo.
