Page 16 of The Coach

“How are you feeling so far, Coach?” Lee Thompson, assistant coach, asks, resting his hands on his hips. He was the closest one to my age, somewhere in his early forties. The rest of the coaching staff was over the age of fifty.

I was the youngest head coach this team had ever seen.

But so far, aside from Kevin Johnson, who was also standing here and had thought the head coaching position would go to him, they’d all treated me with respect.

“I think we’re looking good. I need Thatcher and Bedford to get their shit together, though. Something going on off the ice?”

Kevin shrugs. “Not that we know of. We try to keep a line drawn at how much we know about their outside life.”

“Well, that just might change,” I reply, giving them a hard look. “How they do in their outside life affects how they play. We’ll keep an eye on them.”

“Yes, sir,” Lee replies, giving me a congenial nod along with Jeff, our volunteer assistant coach. Kevin reluctantly agrees, and we head back to the locker room.

I pause on a bench and remove my skates, slipping back into street shoes when I see Lincoln answer the phone. It’s a FaceTime with his sister, and I have to rein in the urge to go steal the phone. Like that wouldn’t give me away. “Everyone say ‘hi, Mick!’”

The team replies in unison, and Mick laughs. I close my eyes at the sound.

“Holy shit, that’s your sister?” someone says, stealing the phone out of Lincoln’s hand like I was daydreaming about doing only moments before. “Hey baby, why don’t you come over to our place tonight?”

Mick’s voice filters through the locker room, “In your dreams, Carter.”

Damn fucking right.

I stand and head into my office to grab my things. Time to find that number.

I hadn’t had time last night to take a serious look for the mysterious note that Mick had left, but I was determined to find it now.

All day, I had been focused on work, but there was a small part of me, a little nudge in the back corner of my mind, that had her tucked away there. She wasn’t leaving me alone.

And I didn’t mind that one bit.

She was something else. She was smart, funny, a little chaotic in her flirting. She took me by surprise and kept me on my toes, and I felt myself already falling for her. She was… out of my league, but I would do what I could to get into her league.

I dump my keys on the kitchen island, watching them slide until they almost fall off, and then turn to face my empty fridge. I’ve been here long enough to get my couch and TV set up in the living room, but off to the side by the pantry, were two full boxes of kitchen stuff that I’ve yet to unpack. The few weeks I’ve been here have been full of takeout and eating at the Old Mill, with one of those meals being shared with Mick.

I look at my fridge, its empty doors taunting me. I look on top, my hand tapping the surface to feel for a piece of paper. Getting on my knees, I peer under the fridge for anything but come up empty.

I stand and place my hands on my hips, glaring at the fridge again. “Is this what dating is these days?” I ask myself in a grumble. It was flirty and sexy when she’d done it. I was excited and intrigued at the way she was making me work for this.

But now I was just annoyed.

Peeking between the wall and the fridge, something attached to the fridge gives me pause, and I freeze. I rack my brain for where the newly placed calendar whiteboard came from and figure the only solution was it came with the fridge—or the condo, that is. On that whiteboard I didn’t even realize was there was a note from Mick.

I had fun. If you ever want to lose a debate about hockey, give me a call. -Mick

I smirk at the dig and grab my phone, immediately making a new contact and pulling up a brand-new message. “Finally.”

Found you.

I wait a minute, then another before my phone beeps.

Well, if it isn’t the Coach.

I groan and resist the urge to demand she get her ass over here right now.

I hate that we have to wait to get together again, hate that we are already in season and have practices all week, game prep, and two games each weekend. Some of the games we have to fly to and will be gone for long weekends.

I debate asking, wondering if I am pushing too hard, too fast. Then, remembering myself, I tap out the message anyway.

---