Page 91 of Coach
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 . . .
Flannel Daddy:You know who Matt Rife is?
Me:The comedian? Sure. He’s funny . . . and super cute.
Damn you, valley girl. Go away!
Flannel Daddy:Right.
Flannel Daddy:He’s in town next week. One week only.
Me:Really?
Flannel Daddy:Yeah. Want to go? With me?
I couldn’t help the smile curling my lips. He was so gruff, so short with his words, but I’d learned in our short time knowing each other that each one carried the weight of a thousand others. He wasn’t unfeeling like I’d originally thought. He just didn’t know how to express those emotions in words. At least, not in very many words.
Me:I’d love to, but I have practice every night until spring.
Flannel Daddy:The show starts at 9:30 at night. If you’re practicing that late, I’m calling CPS.
Me:Ha. No need to call the authorities. We usually stop around six. Some weeks we keep them until seven, especially if there’s a big game coming up. Unless they throw up on their shoes Friday night, next week should be normal.
Flannel Daddy:Good. I already got tickets for Tuesday night.
Presumptive little bastard. I loved it!
Flannel Daddy:I’ll bring dinner to your place around seven-thirty.
Me:I’ll need to shower and change.
There was a long pause before the dots began dancing again.
