Page 51 of Mile High Coach

When we’re done, she doesn’t bother with holding her knees to her chest. And, for some reason, I don’t bother reminding her. Instead, she cuddles into me, and I loop my arms around her, breathing in her scent, the lingering smell of the market in her hair.

Just when I think she’s asleep, I lean down and press a kiss to the top of her head, hoping it says everything I can’t yet speak out loud.

It’s Christmastime, and I’m jolly as hell as I walk down the hallway in the arena, already hearing the distant buzz of fans filling up the seats.

I’m jolly when my phone buzzes, and I know exactly who it is.

Lovie:Only if you win tonight, coach.

A response to my request that she come over to my place after the game. Little does she know there’s a party planned for her, appetizers and holiday food I’ve been working on for the past week saran-wrapped in my fridge and ready to go.

Harrison:I’ll go ahead and suit up, then.

Lovie:Save that for the bedroom.

A thrill runs through me, and I laugh out loud at her text. Lovie Waters, known for being zipped up tight, joking with me like that. It reminds me of that airline waiting area, the sense that she was just waiting for someone to loosen her up.

And I love being the one to see her like this. It makes me happy, adds to the jolly feeling in my bones.

I’m happy enough that I don’t even mind the last-minute extra tickets they sold to this game, or the fact that Greenhill is still nowhere to be found. I don’t even complain about the stupidSanta hat on my head, and how the coaching staff thought it might be a fun addition to tonight’s game.

I’m so happy, in fact, that at first, when my phone pings with an email from HR, I assume it must be something mundane—the monthly HR newsletter, or a round-up of all the new hires. An announcement about this year’s Christmas party.

Most of that happiness fades when I see what it actually is. An invite to an emergency HR meeting, taking place immediately.

When I walk in, Lovie is already seated, her face white. She doesn’t meet my eye as I step to a seat, sit down.

“What’s going on?” I ask, looking between her and the HR representative, a young woman I vaguely recognize. Glancing at the nameplate on the desk, I read, Maya Winthrop.

“Mr. Clark,” she says, her hands trembling slightly as she looks between Lovie and me. “Unfortunately, I’ve called you both to my office today to deal with an…unfortunate series of photos that have been posted online.”

Quickly, she turns her monitor around so I can see what she’s talking about.

There are a few tabs to click through. The first is an Instagram post from a Blue Crabs fan page. Ms. Winthrop flicks her mouse, moving through the photos at rapid speed.

Lovie and me, at the Christmas Market. The photos are practically high fucking definition, showing the snowflakes in her lashes, the way my hand lingers at her lower back. Us locking eyes as we drink from our boot mugs, her laughing as she skates.

The comments underneath the post shift as Ms. Winthrop flicks through them.

Hockeyluver11:Honestly they’re kind of cute together, who cares.

Blucrabzboy:Dude is like 100, find someone your own age, damn.

Emmaaaaa4:This is literally grooming, disgusting. Always knew the guy was a creep—just look at him.

Ms. Winthrop clicks away before I can read more of them, shifting the screen over to an article onNHL Today, which features a photo of Lovie and I skating together at the top.

The title readsBlue Crabs Affair: Ethical Dilemmas Surrounding Performance Strategy and Personal Relationships. Just next to the title I seeby Constance Evans.

My eyes skip down the page, drinking in the article with a quickness I didn’t know I was capable of. Beside me, Lovie sits perfectly still, and I get the feeling that she’s already read through the entire thing.

Lovelace Waters is an interesting name for an interesting woman. My investigation into this newest hire of the Baltimore Blue Crabs began when I first noticed her sitting behind the bench with the other staff, but couldn’t find any history in her employment regarding athletics or sports.

That’s because she doesn’t have any. Ms. Waters has an MBA and, according to her previous clients, helps firms to optimize their analytics and performance. Simply put, Ms. Waters is all about helping organizations make more money, often through lay-offs and the utilization of technology that takes away human jobs.

At first, the focus of this article was going to be all about the bleeding of business into sport, and how a hyper-focus on money-driven-success steals from us all, but it turns out there’s a lot more than strategizing happening in those meeting rooms?—

“What the fuck is this?” I snap, pushing back from the desk when I can’t take any more of it. It’s all stupid, and untrue—based onwhat Lovie has told me about her previous work, she’s helped several small businesses avoid going under back in Maine.

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