Page 30 of Sexting the Coach
“What do you mean bythis kind of thing?” Weston asks.
“Going out in public, being seen. There are some team events we’d like you to consider, like the league’s charity gala next month. Obviously, there are some people commenting on the age gap between the two of you online, but those comments are in the minority. Even with those, this entire situation would be to the benefit of the team. An obviously consensual relationship that people like becauseyouare a part of it. They areshippingyou, as the kids say.”
If Hattie and Mabel were here, they’d be cringing hard enough to lose consciousness. I open my mouth to say something—though I’m not quite sure what, when Weston puts his palms on the table and leans forward.
“This is insane,” Weston says, shaking his head. “People should not be a fan of this. I am way too old for her.”
I dart a glance at him, my cheeks flaming. Does he realize what it sounds like when he says that?
Tamra laughs, like he’s telling a joke, “Sure, some people think that—but there are plenty of others who are into it.”
When I accepted this position, I could never have imagined I would be in this situation. I only realize my knee is shaking under the table when Weston—not even looking at me—reaches over and slides his palm over my knee to stop the motion.
“And what if we don’t want to do it?” I ask, voice soft.
Tamra nods quickly, like she’s considered this, “I get that it’s an imposition, totally. But you should know that being a team player like this would mean a lot to us. And we’d love to put in a good word for you with the administration.”
Weston shifts beside me, and I wonder if there’s some meaning under all this that I’m not catching. A good wordwouldbe nice—Loraine will decide which of the hires from this year will join the team full time next year.
And I would very much like a full-time spot.
“Okay,” I say, reaching down and settling my hand on Weston’s, which is still on my thigh and sending electric pulses the full length of my leg. “We’ll do it.”
Weston glances at me, raising his eyebrows like,oh, are we? But I just squeeze his hand and shoot him a look to go along with it. He should want to—this is going to help both of us.
Tamra claps her hands once, then bends down to grab some papers and slide them in our direction, “Perfect. These are ideas we had for you.”
Chapter 12
Weston
After Elsie decided and told the PR team that we would be going along with their little plan, I thought she owed me at least one quiet evening to myself. But when I told her that I’d be skipping our PT session together, she laughed and smacked her palm lightly against my bicep, “Oh, you’re funny.”
And now, here I am, going along with some stupid stretches.
It’s not that I don’t like stretching, or that I don’t appreciate the importance of what PT is doing or the knowledge Elsie has on the matter. I just don’t like doing all this with her, alone in this room, with my body screaming to touch her each time we get close.
“I want to see how you respond to the different trainings,” Elsie says, her eyes focused on me as I lay on my side, staring back at her. This is not my idea of a fun Friday night—I’d rather be at home, watching film. Maybe catching highlights from the Blue Crabs game, I missed the other night.
“Come on,” she says, when I still don’t move. When she moves to the side of the table, taking my ankle and pulling on it, I ignore the press of her touch. “Lift your leg, you know how to, right?”
“Yes,” I say through my teeth, trying to ignore the pain that sears up my leg at about a three-inch lift. “I know how to lift my leg.”
“You’re in pain,” Elsie says.
“I’m not.”
“I can see it in your face, Wolfe—I don’t understand why you’re so hell-bent on hiding it.”
I grit my teeth as she turns and scribbles something down on her clipboard—likely something about the brief moment of discomfort I endured that she’s going to blow up into something wildly worse than it actually was.
But before I can say something, figure out what combination of words is going to convince her that I’m not in as much pain as she seems to think I am, she’s ushering me off the table, making me move to the other side of the room.
“You can brace against the wall if you need to,” she says, touching her hand briefly to a textured part of the wall.
“I don’t need to hold the wall.”
“Just raise your inside leg,” she says, reaching down to tap my knee like I might not know what she’s talking about. “Like this.”
