Page 33 of The Coach

The coffee table groaned under the weight of greasy takeout containers and a bowl of popcorn the size of my head. Matt had the remote, as usual, and he queued up the movie with the precision of someone who’d done this a dozen times before. Some families had Santa; we had John McClane. And I wouldn’t change it for the world.

But as hard as I tried to focus on Bruce Willis dodging bullets, walking barefoot on broken glass, and spitting witty one-liners, my mind kept drifting elsewhere. I hadn’t heard from Blake since this morning, and I missed him like crazy. It had only been a few days since we last saw each other, and we spoke all the time. Mostly texting, but sometimes he would call, and I would sneak out to the bathroom so Dad and Matt wouldn’t hear. I suspect Blake was sneaking out too, so I decided not to bother him, letting him call me when he had the chance. After I sent him an ass pic the other day, he went absolutely feral. He called me later that night, when everyone was asleep, and we had our first phone sex. It was hot hearing him moan and tell me all the things he would do to me if he was there, and I came fast. Since that night,it had become a regular thing—sending nudes and having phone sex—to help us bide our time until we met again. Still, I couldn’t help but take my phone out of my pocket every few minutes and glance at the screen, hoping I’d see a notification.

“You checking stock market shares, or what?” Matt asked, leaning over to grab a slice of pizza.

“Shut up,” I said, too quickly.

His smirk was as annoying as ever. “Must be something serious. You’ve been glued to that thing for days.”

“It’s nothing,” I muttered, stuffing the phone back in my pocket.

Matt shrugged, letting it drop, but my phone suddenly buzzed a minute later, a siren call I couldn’t ignore.Finally! Yet when I turned the screen on, I saw it wasn’t Blake. It was Chris.

Merry Christmas, T-bag. Hope Santa brings you everything you want.

The text was accompanied by a winking emoji, and I felt my face heat up. Chris was a good guy—sweet, funny, and unabashedly flirty. We texted back and forth on the regular since that match in Gettysburg and we became really close. I could tell him some things I couldn’t tell even Finn. But he wasn’t the one who made my heart flutter.

I typed out a quick reply:Merry Christmas to you too, C-man. How’s Maine?

Snowed in, he responded almost immediately.But still, a nice change of scenery from Pennsylvania. How’s your evening going?

Watching a sweaty guy in a wifebeater take out an entire building of terrorists, I shot back, and for the next fifteen minutes, we traded light banter whileDie Hardplayed in the background. Matt noticed, of course. He always noticed.

“Coach?” he mouthed, waggling his eyebrows.

“Just a friend,” I said, though my voice wavered.

“Uh-huh. Friends don’t send you winky faces on Christmas Eve, Ty.”

I rolled my eyes and tossed a throw pillow at him, which he caught with a laugh. I shot a glance at Dad to see if he overheard us, but he seemed completely engrossed in the movie, like he hadn’t already seen it a thousand times before. Or maybe he had something on his mind too.

By the time the movie ended and we all went to our beds, my stomach was full, but my heart felt empty. Blake still hadn’t called.

* * *

Christmas morning came too early, a distant thud rousing me from dreams I couldn’t quite remember. I heard Dad yelling at Matt, Matt slamming the door, and then bursting into my room like a kid half his age, his grin a mixture of mischief and amusement.

“Ty, they’re at it again!” he bawled. “Don’t even try going in there!”

I groaned, shielding my eyes from the light streaming through the window. “Why the hell are you shouting?”

“Wake up,” he said, yanking the blankets off my body. Like usual, I slept in my T-shirt, naked below the waist. Matt ignored it, unfazed, and I made no attempt to cover up. At this point, we’ve seen each other in the buff so many times that it made no difference. At least I didn’t sport a morning wood—although, he has already seen that, too. “They’re screwing again.”

That got my attention. I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Wait. What?”

“You heard me,” he said, dropping down at the foot of my bed. He was only in his boxers, sitting cross-legged. We were wearing just enough clothes for one person between the two of us. “Apparently, it’s not over between Dad and Danny. They’re banging in his room as we speak. Merry Christmas to us.”

I blinked at him, my brain struggling to process the words. “So…”

“Yeah.”

“And you—?”

“Yeah.” Matt’s smirk deepened. “Again.”

“But you’re not freaking out.”

He simply shrugged and said, “Eh. If they’re so desperate to fuck, then let them. It’s Christmas, after all.”

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