“By the way,” Silas whispers to me. “I voted for you.” A loud smack echoes in the locker room from the ass slap Silas just delivered in congratulations to me. That better not leave a fucking mark.
After taking a long shower, I check my phone. No reply. I texted her ten minutes ago. Guess she doesn’t think we are fake dating or even friends. My fingers fly furiously across my phone.
Me:We need to talk about this fake dating thing.
Me:You’re either in or out.
Me:It’s confusing, I don’t know how to act when people ask me. And you started this shit lying to everyone.
Libby:Okay. We’ll talk soon.
Libby:But not tonight.
At least my maybe fake girlfriend finally fucking responded.
Chapter twenty-four
Lucas
“Donato, hit the shower then meet me in my office,” Coach Andres barks at me as soon as I enter the almost empty locker room.
Responding with a nod, my heart starts pounding and my chest feels tight. I scurry to the locker room hoping a cold shower will help ease my oncoming panic from Coach wanting to see me. I don’t have a planned meeting with him. This morning, I planned to meditate before practice to ease my anxiety that’s continued to heighten the closer we get to starting the season.
Droplets of cold water melt away my tension and my heart rate slows. No more slacking on my meditation, I need to get my stress under control. Risking having a panic attack in front of my team is not an option.
I force a calm over my body and will my legs to carry me to Coach’s office, keeping my steps tight and controlled.
“You okay, Donato?” Coach inquires, cocking his head at me. “You’re clenching your fist pretty tightly.”
Dropping my fist, I take a seat in front of his desk. “Yeah, just a little tense,” I mutter before sighing heavily.
“Take care of yourself, kid,” Coach insists. “We’ve got a long season ahead of us, but it’s a bright one.”
Coach shuffles some papers around his desk.
“Ah, found it,” Coach mumbles. "Not everyone has voted, but there are two clear winners from the team.” Coach runs his hand across hismouth. “Maybe two or three runner ups that could be swayed by the remaining votes.”
My eyes meet his, clear that he is waiting for me to respond, but I don’t say a word.
He coughs, breaking the silence. ”Donato, I can't read your damn mind. Are you going to tell me your recommendations or what?”
My voice barely audible, I muttersorry. Clearing my throat and finding my voice I start, “Keith is the most obvious.”
Coach gestures affirmatively. “He’s got the most votes and is the first choice of everyone on the coaching staff.”
The tension in my shoulders eases, knowing I made at least one right decision.
“The other two,” I start slowly, building back my confidence. “I’m unsure of.”
“Donato." Coach runs his hands slowly down his face. “Either you have the recommendations, or you don’t. You’ve always been so sure of yourself. What’s going on?”
Not wanting to elaborate on my steadily increasing pressure, I blurt out what my gut has been telling me, “Blaine Mitchell.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Coach looks at me appreciatively, smiling. “Blaine’s really stepped up his game.”
“Tyler Barret is the other person I was thinking," I offer.
Coach offers a subtle nod of approval. I clasp my hands together, feeling a deep sense of relief wash over me knowing that Coach Andres and I are on the same wavelength about Blaine.
