Page 28 of Sexting the Coach
My heart starts to skip when I think about her losing her job. About that look on her face when we were talking about it before—how important this thing is to her.
“That’s me,” I say, waiting a beat too long to answer. “Something I can do for you?”
It’s just what I expected. “Yes! Actually, we were hoping to catch you before you leave for the day. We’d like to have a meeting with you and Ms. Montgomery, if that’s possible.”
I swallow through the sand coating my throat.
So, this is it. They’re going to rip us to shreds. Possibly even fire me. Fincher is probably already dancing a jig, pre-emptive happiness, a kind of spidey-sense about my misfortune.
“Of course,” I say, my responsible, adult brain taking over and cutting off the hose for everything else I wanted to say instead. Better to go to the meeting and see what they have to say before I start defending myself.
I hang up, slide the phone back into my pocket, and head to the coach’s locker room to get a quick shower. If I’m going to sit in a room with Elsie and the others and get my character andcareer ripped to pieces, I’m at least not going to smell like skate sweat while I do it.
Chapter 11
Elsie
Isit anxiously in the meeting room, glancing at the door every ten seconds, though it doesn’t bring Weston in any faster.
Two of the PR people sit across the table from me, while another is pacing on the other side of the room, a presentation already cued up on the screen, no title showing yet. The pictures came out this morning. How they had time to put together an entire PowerPoint is beyond me.
As I sit, waiting, my mind wanders back to walking into the PT center earlier today, Loraine’s tight-lipped,can I speak to you in my officepractically one single word. I hadn’t seen the pictures yet, but I knew I was in deep shit.
Director of PT and Sports Medicine, Loraine has her own office with a nice view of the city, and she led me inside, a chilly air practically floating off of her as she did. I took a seat, and she fixed me with a look that reminded me of my mother.
Disapproving.
“Elsie,” she said, leaning forward and pushing a lock of her dusty blond hair behind her ear, eying me. Since my very first day on the job, I’ve been inspired by Loraine, wanting to be more like her. She has her shit together, my dream job, and does everything in an assured, fast clip. Like she knows exactlywhat she’s doing, and exactly where she’s going next at all times. “Let’s talk about the elephant in the room.”
I shifted, swallowing, laughing nervously. “What elephant is that?”
Loraine sighed. “When I interviewed you for this position, you told me that you’re taking your career seriously.”
“I am.”
“With all due respect,” Loraine said, not unkindly, “I would not associate dating our head coach with taking this position seriously.”
When I came up with the idea for Weston and me to pretend at dating, just to get Karlee off our backs, I hadn’t thought of everyone. Of all the people around the outskirts of my life who would definitely,certainlynot approve of this kind of relationship.
It never occurred to me to think of my boss. That a workplace “romance” like this might say something to her about my professionalism. I shifted again in my chair, clearing my throat.
Becoming a sports PT has always been my dream. Since I was seventeen, this career has been the only thing on my radar, on my horizon.
“I am serious about this position,” I said, doing my best to sound professional, sitting up tall. “It’s just some of fun. PT is absolutely my priority.”
She sighed again, then told me to go ahead and get to work. There was another look on her face, something not meant for me. I was dying to ask her about it, but I had a feeling I already knew what she was thinking.
That Weston was taking advantage of me. Or tricking me into this.
It’s not like Weston and I are best friends. But knowing anyone is thinking of him like that—when I’m the one who started all this—makes it hard for me to swallow.
“Mr. Wolfe,” one of the PR people says, his whiny voice making me jump. “You made it.”
“Sure did,” Weston practically growls, and when I look up at him, my heart does several flips. His dark brown hair is clearly damp after a shower, nearly black, and still sticking out from under his hat though it’s not dry.
He’s wearing a tight Squids shirt and a pair of jeans that—stupidly—take my breath away. All I can think about is unbuttoning them, sliding down, the top of his underwear sticking out.
At that thought, I flash back to the day I walked in on him, during camp. His underwear were visible then—was he wearing Calvin Klein?
