Page 6 of The Coach

I falter for a moment, wondering if class is really that important. One more round wouldn’t hurt my feelings.

Fully dressed, I make my way back over to the doorway of the bedroom. Tanner hasn’t moved an inch, and I smile at the relaxed look on his face, his mouth open slightly. He’s got laugh lines around his mouth, and a couple of wrinkles appear around his eyes when he smiles.

He’s not only hot, amazing in bed, and easy to talk to, but there is something about a guy who loves to laugh.

I ease back over, my hand tentatively reaching out to nudge his arm. “Tanner,” I whisper into the quiet room.

I could just leave. There would be no harm in that. We didn’t make promises or exchange numbers or last names…I could leave.

But I would feel awful if he did it to me. “Tanner,” I say loudly, nudging him harder.

Not a twitch.

I sigh and look for his phone. It’s not on his one and only nightstand, it’s not on the floor by his jeans. I feel weird going through his pants, so I leave them be.

I walk back into the kitchen and spot what I need. On the side of his fridge is a whiteboard, one of those small calendar ones.

Popping open the marker that’s attached, I write a note in the little slot on the date we met.

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

Jotting down my number, I smile at the note. I spot my bag on the floor near the entryway, grabbing it quickly before I rush out the door.

It takes me a few moments once I step outside to realize where I am.

Campus is basically its own small town. You could walk wherever you need to go.

I can see the taller campus buildings from the end of Tanner’s street and start walking.

The area we are in is Rose Hill. It was a town that had nothing in it but a post office before Northridge was built here back in the 1960s, but it is now a flourishing college town.

I’d walked to the bar last night as I normally did, so my car was thankfully home. But I wasn’t going to get a chance to even get home before I had to get to class.

I was in the second year of my master’s program in occupational therapy. I’d been in Rose Hill since freshman year, choosing Northridge just because of its amazing master’s program, using my first four years to earn my bachelor’s and do everything I could to get accepted into the program. I had been more than a little relieved when I’d gotten the acceptance, considering how cutthroat it could be.

I worked part-time at a physical therapist’s office just outside of town, assisting and earning hours that went toward my degree.

I picked this line of work so that I could work with wounded veterans. My dad had served in the Army for many years until he was discharged because of an injury. It had been hard on him, hard on my mom, and hard on us all as a family.

I watched his therapist work with him, saw her patience and kindness go a long way, and had immediately known that was what I wanted to do. That I needed to be in the field somehow.

Now here I am. In my sixth year of school with an end finally in sight.

I had no idea where I would end up working when I was done. I had feelers out everywhere, but for now, I was focused on the present.

Smiling as I enter the main part of campus, I see the billowing street flags announcing the home hockey team, the Vapors.

My other passion, aside from wanting to help people, is my love for hockey.

My parents put me in figure skating when I was young, but when I saw my little brother start hockey, I wanted to try it out. My mom was not for that until she saw that I had absolutely no fear when it came to knocking into the other boys as hard as they knocked into me.

However, I had nowhere near my brother’s skill and talent. He’d taken to it like a fish takes to water. He was fluid and graceful on the ice but also fierce and competitive.

And now he was the team's star player, though he probably wouldn’t admit it.

Coming up to the building that houses my therapy process course, I pause to dig through my bag. I grab my Vapors ball cap and slap it over my hair that’s a little too wild, and grab a stick of gum.

Chewing quickly, I chance a glance at my phone. An irrational hope that Tanner has already woken up, seen my note, and immediately sent me a message pulses through me, and I sigh when the screen is blank.

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