Page 35 of Sexting the Coach
I stumble out of the elevator, then turn around to say something—to make sure that I didn’t imagine that entire thing.
But the doors are already closing, locking Weston away from me once more.
And when I push into our apartment a minute later, hands and legs still shaking from the encounter, Mabel catches on right away.
“Woah,” she says, perking up from the couch where she and Hattie are watching some reality TV show. “What happened toyou?”
I hang my keys on the little hook with my name, then blink a few times, my eyes refocusing on my friends, who are both sitting on the couch, staring up at me. I must look a mess, my hair wrecked, my legs probably still shaking.
I swallow. “I’m not entirely sure.”
I’m not usually on-site during the games, but of course, someone else was sick and Loraine asked me to cover for them.
Which means I’m sitting in my team-sanctioned polo alongside the other PT team members, and when one of them realizes they forgot the k-tape, I jump up, offering to run and grab it.
Anything not to be here, watching Weston down on the ice, my core getting warmer and warmer, my skin prickling each time I glance at his hand and remember where it was less than twenty-four hours ago.
I’m coming back when a figure crosses my path, and I almost run into him head-on.
“Elsie?”
I cringe at the sound of his voice and force myself to smile up at the man in front of me.
“Oh, shit,” Jonathan says, giving me one of his slick smiles. “Didn’t think I was going to run into you—sorry about that.”
The thing about Jonathan is that everything he says has a double meaning. And the double meaning to this is that he seems to think I’m completely devastated by our break-up, andapologizing for the fact that I’m seeing him. Which is clearly ripping me apart.
I open my mouth, thinking I might tell him that I’m seeing someone else now, but I feel weird pulling Weston into it. Plus, shouldn’t Jonathan know? Those photos of us were mostly in outlets related to the Squids. Maybe he hasn’t been keeping up with those.
“No worries,” I say instead, nodding and stepping around him. “Good luck out there.”
“Thanks,” he laughs, “don’t need it, though.”
He always knows how to get under my skin. I can’t believe I ever slept with that guy. Hattie and Mabel were right about him, but of course I couldn’t see that back when we were in our on-again, off-again thing. I thought it was easier to have Jonathan on the back burner than to have a relationship I’d have to pay real attention to.
When I get back to the bench, Loraine intercepts me, “Great, thanks—take one of these down to Jones. They walkied up to say his tape is already coming loose. Re-wrap him, do extra.”
“You got it,” I say, happy to have something else to think about.
I only realize, as I’m standing up from finishing Jones’ ankle, that now I’m standing beside Weston, who glances over at me with a cryptic look on his face.
DidI imagine what happened in the elevator?
No. But he clearly regrets it, wants to pretend like it didn’t happen. I swallow and glance away from him, but he surprises me by catching my arm before I dart away again.
Without looking at me, Weston says, “You said Hanley is your ex?”
“Yes,” I say, and when I follow the line of Weston’s stare, I realize he’s looking at Jonathan.
Who’s looking right at us.
“So, why would your ex be staring right at you?” Weston asks, tearing his gaze from the ice and meeting mine. I realize, with a start, that the expression on his face is pretty darn close tojealousy.
“He seems to think I’m completely torn apart from the break-up,” I say, surprised with my ability to keep it together, even with Weston’s hand still on my arm. Still staring into his blue eyes—which are lighter today. “He’s kind of a dick.”
“Don’t worry,” Weston promises, his eyes flicking between mine. He finally drops his hand from my arm, and my body instantly misses the heat of it. “We’re going to embarrass the motherfucker.”
I want to laugh, but the rush of heat that goes through me at the sound of that makes laughing impossible. So, instead, I just nod, risk a glance toward the ice, and rise up on my toes, pressing a quick kiss to Weston’s cheek.
