Page 300 of Coach
That made me proud.
That wasmyman they were ogling.
You strut, babe, I thought more than once.Strut like you own it.
“You’re gonna be late.” His voice booming from the front of the house shook me out of my daydream. I grabbed my stuff and shot down the hallway.
“Keys.” Shane held out a hand, my car keys waiting in his palm. His other hand shot out, a Yeti with steam curling out the sippy hole. “And coffee, extra strong, enough cream to make it basically milk, and two Splendas because you turn into a beast at gamesand might need a little extra sweetness just to balance your inner demon.”
I took the keys and metal mug, blinking up at him. “You’re wordy tonight.”
He grinned and shrugged. “It’s not every day my guy coaches in the District Tournament. He deserves a little verbal support.”
He leaned down and kissed my lips.
I growled. “I’d prefer physical support, but that’ll have to wait until after the game.”
His grin turned sinister. “Win for me and you can have anything you want later.”
My eyes widened. “You mean I don’t already get whatever I want?”
“Fuck you.” He chuckled, shoving me toward the door. “Go bring me a trophy.”
“You’re—”
“Yes, I’m coming. I just need to change. Now go before they start without you!”
Chapter 47
Shane
There were no buzzer beaters, no last-second shots on which the crowd’s very breath hung. Mateo’s Mustangs’ worst game was won by more than twenty points.
And the championship?
They destroyed their opponents so badly the opposing coach sent in his second string before the first half ended.
I played football. A blowout always felt good.
Like, seriously good.
But the Mustangs dealt such a spanking in that last game of the District Tournament that most of their own crowd stopped watching to chat with their neighbor or play games on their phones. When Gabe hoisted the trophy over his head, and his teammates threw their hands in the air like gays when Gloria Gaynor walked on stage, the mood in the stands was more “what’s next” than overly celebratory.
Still, I could see the pride and relief in Mateo’s eyes from across the court.
It made my heart do weird things in my chest.
I wasn’t sure that was normal, but it felt really good.
I couldn’t stop looking at him, tearing that purple polo off him and licking his nipples and abs and—
“Mr. Shane?”
I startled at the youthful voice and the boy who owned it now standing before me. I knew the names of all of Mateo’s starters, but this kid was unfamiliar.
“I’m Stan, a freshman. Coach Ricci sent me to get you. He wants you with us on the floor.”
Most of the crowd had thinned. The opponents had already fled to the showers. Some of Mateo’s own players were sauntering away, a girlfriend—or mom—under one arm (or one under each arm in a few cases). I couldn’t fathom why he’d want me down there as everyone faded back into their lives.
