Page 12 of Sexting the Coach
She brings the box around, and we all take a pair of gloves, some of us reluctantly—these have obviously been worn a lot of times.
“Now, look at the lining,” she says gleefully, returning to the front of the group and setting the box on the ground. “Blue on that side, red on this side. Line up, please!”
I move to my side, not realizing Elsie is near me until we’re lined up beside one another. Apparently, she doesn’t realize either, and I hold my breath to see if she’s going to make a scene of avoiding me.
Luckily, she stays in place, remaining perfectly still, like I’m a T-Rex that won’t be able to get her as long as I can’t see her.
For the first time today, it occurs to me to wonder why she’s working so hard to keep away from me. Is she embarrassed that I didn’t text her back? Was she hoping I’d come to her room last night?
I’m so busy thinking about it, and her, that I don’t realize what the game is until they’ve already laid the rope out in front of us, drawn a large white line down the center of the grass in chalk.
“Make sure you get a good grip on the rope!” the counselor says, stepping over it and walking down the line, her eyes a little too bright. “Scoot in, everyone has to fit!”
I’m pushed forward, and Elsie is forced back, and within seconds, her ass is basically in my lap as the game begins, and we’re all pulling.
My gaze locks in on the nape of her neck, the little hairs curling downward. The smooth expanse dropping down into thecollar of her shirt. If I leaned forward, I could press my lips to that little spot just at the crook of her neck.
For a moment, I think about dropping the rope, giving up. Or feigning that I’ve lost my grip. But that would just be more proof that she and I are avoiding one another.
She lets out a grunt and rocks backward, her ass grinding against me, and I bite my tongue hard enough to draw blood, losing all my concentration on the game and instead flooding my mind with images of my grandmother, the San Jose Sharks, anything to keep me from getting a fucking erection right now.
Does she even realize I’m behind her? Does she feel how close we are? Does she realize what the tugging, rocking motion is doing to me?
A second later, our side hauls the others over the white line and victory is declared. Elsie, breathing hard, drops the rope, and, without even looking over her shoulder at me, launches into a dead sprint for the cabins.
“Must need the bathroom,” the counselor laughs, waving in her direction. “Sorry, we should have looped past them before coming this way.”
“You’re all free to go and clean up before dinner,” Karlee says, but she sounds distracted, her eyes on Elsie Montgomery as she disappears around the side of the cabins.
Karlee knows Elsie, they’re some sort of family friend to one another. And if she’d been paying at least a little attention to her today, she would have picked up on the tension between the two of us.
After a second, Karlee turns, her gaze wandering over to the spot that Elsie just occupied, and I busy myself with helping them wrap up the rope, doing my best to maintain my usualI don’t give a fuckfacial expression.
Karlee looks away, and relief floods through me.
As much as I don’t trust myself to, I’m going to need to talk to Elsie before this entire thing gets me into really fucking hot water.
Chapter 5
Elsie
Ididn’t get a bit of sleep last night.
Instead, I was up until four in the morning, Googling about sexual harassment at work, and how to unsend a text, and what to do if you accidentally sext a guy who is kind of sort of your boss but also old enough to be your dad.
Unfortunately, the internet didn’t have much in the way of help.
Mabel scared the shit out of me around four thirty, when she appeared on the other side of my laptop like a dark specter, her eye mask propped up on her head and her red braids fuzzy from sleep.
“What are you doing?” she’d asked, and then, before I could answer, “Did you even go to sleep last night?”
And at that moment, I came clean to her about everything—what happened with Wolfe, the running away, then the thoughts, and finally, the horrible, horrible fact of the text that I didn’t mean to send.
“Hattie is going to flip,” Mabel said, shaking her head and handing my phone back to me. I didn’t want it. It felt like a bomb. “She’s always told you that texting thing is stupid.”
“I know.” I wrapped my arms around my legs and buried my face in my knees. Voice muffled by my pajama pants, I asked, “What am I going to do?”
“Well, first, you’re going to take a shower,” Mabel said, grabbing my arm up and hauling me out of bed, pushing me toward the bathroom.
