Page 14 of Sexting the Coach
“—who says it’s not in a hot way?” Mabel interjects, but Hattie rolls on through.
“—pretty sure it’s going to be against the code of conduct, and also, didn’t the Squidsjusthave some big scandal last year?”
“It was the year before last,” Mabel corrects. “First, since when are you a Squids fan? And second, that was totally different. It wasn’t consensual. That coach was a total fucking perv.”
“And don’t you think Elsie is kind of acting like a perv?”
“Hey!” I say, but Hattie talks over me, “Andalso,I’ll have you know I did a whole Wikipedia deep dive when you guys were hired there. I’m a good friend.”
“Yeah,” Mabel laughs, “that, or you just love gossip.”
“I thought this wasn’t about fighting,” I say, weakly.
“It’s not,” Mabel says, sighing and leaning back on her arms, lolling her head to the side, and looking at me like I’m a half-finished painting, and she’s trying to figure out how to get me to the final landscape. “I’m saying go for it. Hattie is saying no?—”
“Emphatically no!” Hattie supplies.
“—so, I guess you just have to decide what you’re going to do.”
“Choose between avoiding him or—what? Showing up at his door tonight?” I ask.
“Did he answer the first text?” Hattie cuts in, and I flush again. It’s not like I haven’t thought about that fact—no, he did not answer the text. Which probably means that even if I was up for that kind of thing, he wouldnotbe interested.
“No,” Mabel says, wincing at the screen. “He did not.”
“Oh,god, Elsie!” Hattie says, and I can picture her pushing her bangs back away from her face in exasperation. “This isn’t even a question. He’s not interested! Plus, isn’t he married? To that actress?”
“No,” Mabel says, “he got divorced a long time ago. Can you imagine fumbling Leda Temple?”
“He was datingLeda Temple?” Hattie basically whistles. “Pack itup, Elsie.”
“You guys are the worst,” I whine, falling onto my side and reaching over to Mabel’s bed for the pillow again. I still don’t get to suffocate myself with it, because she wrenches it away and holds it tight.
“You can’t die right now,” Mabel says, her eyes cutting to the clock on the far wall. “It’s almost time for team dinner.”
“Yeah,” Hattie says, “I mean—I don’t have dinner. I’m watchingLove Islandand eating popcorn, but I’m there with you in spirit.”
“Have protein, too!” Mabel orders.
“You can’t make me!” Hattie cackles, cutting herself off when she disconnects the call.
“Oh, fuck,” I mutter, falling back so my head is hanging off the end of the bed. “I’m screwed.”
Team dinner is even worse than I thought.
It’s the final night we’re here, so they’ve pulled all the stops—prime rib and roasted potatoes, definitely not food they had to cook around a campfire. The room is jovial, faces red from drinking, laughter filling the space. Maybe it’s because the week was fun.
Or maybe it’s because everyone is so happy to finally go home.
“What iswrongwith me?” I hiss under my breath, putting my hands over my eyes and forcing myself to look away. “It’s like—I can’t stop looking.”
“You are very un-chill,” Mabel agrees.
Wolfe is sitting on the other side of the dining hall, talking to some of the other coaches, and it’s like no matter how hard I try to focus on Mabel, and get my mind on other things, I can’t stop my eyes from wandering over to him instead.
And I can’t stop my thoughts from wandering back to his arms around me when we hit the ground during football. His body against mine during the tug-of-war.
The sight of him standing in front of that mirror, his thumb in the waistband of his shorts, pulling them down to reveal his hip, and?—
