Page 40 of Every Move You Make

Casshole nods her head. “Older sister, nice.”

“His brothers also play for Philly’s D1 team,” I add.

“Thanks,” he says softly before another question pops up that leaves him even more confused. “Do y’all wanna know about my credentials?” Isaiah asks instead.

“We were just told,” Serwaa says. “Now we need to know the real shit.”

“How do you feel about cats?” Skirt asks.

He crosses his arms. “What?”

“Zay,” I start, but correct myself. “I mean, Coach Johanssen,” I wince. That feels weird to say. “Just answer the questions. We’re a relentless bunch.”

He sighs and shrugs. “Yeah. Cats are cool.”

“What’s your sign?” Khaos asks.

“I don’t know sign language. But I know Spanish.”

“No, your astrological sign.”

He doesn't say anything and looks back at me again.

“Tell them when your birthday is, Coach,” I laugh.

“January 12th.”

“A Capricorn?” Khaos balks and pretends to faint against me.

“That’s a good thing,” I beam, shaking her shoulders. “That means he’s determined and hardworking. He’s organized and honest.”

“Sensitive,” Serwaa adds.

“Loyal.”

“Finally,” Cass grumbles. “I won’t be the only one anymore.”

“Do you have a partner? Or kids?” Skirt asks from the ground as she takes off her pink boots.

“No and no.”

My heart skips a beat at his answer. He’s going to find someone else now.

I would love to be the reason he answered ‘yes’ to that, but it’s not going to happen—I lost my chance with him. If there was ever a sign telling me he wasn’t interested, then this was it. Because Isaiah would have never taken this job if he wanted me. He wouldn’t have risked something between us if his feelings were mutual.

Dell’s voice slices through the fog.He still likes you.

Ha. Clearly, he did not know what he was talking about. I should have listened to my gut and given up on Isaiah. Forthe last six years, we’ve rarely seen each other, as much as I’ve tried. Granted, he was across the Atlantic Ocean for three of those years. When he came back, he was different. I know suffering from that shoulder injury cost him his spot with the Hornets, and I wish I could have been with him to help him through what was probably a dark time. Instead, our friendship suffered those three years. We were both focused on our rugby careers. It makes sense that the friendship we formed in college faded because of that. I just expected we’d pick back up when he got back here.

There were a few times I was able to corner him at rugby events, and while the words we spoke were those of friends, his body language was unfamiliar. He was jittery and flushed and kept pulling at the back of his neck. He barely spoke, and I was too tongue-tied to say anything meaningful.

It hurt to know our friendship was reduced to that, but now that he’s here and he’s my coach, maybe we can have a fresh start and rebuild.

The team peppers him with questions for the next fifteen minutes, and by the time practice is over and everyone heads to their cars, I’ve mustered enough courage to speak my mind.

“Zay,” I call, running over to him before he opens his car door. “Can we talk?”

“Of course,” he says, and that calm confidence is back. Where has that been hiding all these years? That’s the old Isaiah I remember and fell for. Not the cagey, hiding-in-the-shadows man I’ve come to know.

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