The next morning, Marlie woke feeling refreshed. She grinned her way through a quick breakfast, several cups of coffee, and her classes throughout the day. She taught two English composition classes and a creative writing class three days a week, on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. On Tuesdays and Thursdays she taught a second creative writing class that only met twice a week.
Between her allotted office hours with built-in time for grading and planning, her schedule didn’t overwhelm and allowed her to coach girls’ JV basketball in the evenings. The high school had asked if she wanted to coach Varsity next year, but she was still thinking it over.
Though teaching didn’t pay much, and especially not in Hope’s Turn, she enjoyed her job and loved being involved with young women playing a sport she adored.
She understood why a sport nut would want to go pro. Had she been taller and better at the game, she might have. Instead, she’d played college ball at a D3 school, enjoyed the hell out of her time learning while also blossoming in her independence, and found a love for the game that continued to this day.
She wondered about Damon’s path. In her downtime, she googled him. Wiki certainly had some interesting tidbits about his life. Apparently, he’d been drafted right out of high school to the CHL—Canadian Hockey League. No college for Demon Sinclair.
A prodigy, he’d started his first two seasons in the CHL then moved up to the NHL’s minor league until the age of twenty-three, when the Portland Ice Raptors took him on. He’d been there ever since, moving up after two years of being the backup goalie, now the starter.
He’d been making magic there for the past six years, putting players on their asses and saving pucks all over the place.
Huh. He hadn’t been bragging. The guy was amazing, had even been voted best goalie in the league the past few years and MVP of the entire NHL last year, which was huge anyway she looked at it.
Demon Sinclair could be brutal on the ice. She watched a few online videos of him playing, impressed at his skills, the scary helmet that made him look like an actual demon, and the way he didn’t tolerate anyone trying to score with his puck.
She also couldn’t take her gaze from his athleticism and flexibility. Holy crap. The guy could do a split and bend in all kinds of ways. She wondered how his knee was holding up. How frustrated he had to be away from a game he clearly dominated.
Damon had to be dying to get back to work. She sighed, wishing she could be as motivated for him to return to hockey as he had to be. Yet, she’d admit it, if only to herself. She liked Damon Sinclair more than she’d ever liked any of her previous boyfriends.
Granted, she knew they’d just met. That the newness of their relationship made it sparkle and shine. Heck, she only knew as much as she did about him because she’d looked him up online. She didn’t know his favorite song, colors, hobbies. Only that he kissed like an expert and fit her like a glove.
And that he had a life to get back to next year.
Now depressed when she’d been so happy all day, she worked through her lesson plans for the following day.
A knock at her door interrupted her.
“Coach?”
One of her students had come by for office hours. Though she’d told her students to call her Marlie, not hung up on formality while trying to teach, a few of her students focused on the work she did on the court. Like this one.
She smiled. “Hey, Simon. What can I help you with?”
Though a high school senior, Simon Bragg was taking some advanced college courses before graduation that would count for credit at the next level of his education. The kid already had a football scholarship to the University of Oregon come next fall, but he worked extra hard on his academics, hoping to get some basic classes out of the way before heading to the U of O.
“Well, our final is next week. I had a few questions about my assignment.”
She nodded. Having assigned her class a take-home final for Comp I, she allowed them to choose which two essays they’d completed during the term for revision and thematic expansion to answer a few questions. To keep it easier on herself, she’d capped the word limit to between 1,000 and 1,500 words, or roughly four to six pages.
She had four classes worth of finals to grade and turn in by the fifteenth. And then, finally, a real Christmas break until the new winter term started the second week of January.
While Simon went over his questions, she answered each one, still impressed with the boy’s thought process. By the time they wrapped up, she only had another half hour until basketball practice at the high school.
Another knock at her door showed Jenna Mason, another of Marlie’s students. The girl also happened to be Simon’s girlfriend and the sister of one of Marlie’s star basketball players. “Hey Jenna. Please tell me nothing’s wrong with your sister.”
Jenna sighed. “No, Coach. Why do I get the feeling you’re just being nice to me to get to Melly?”
“Well, duh.”
Simon snickered. He stood and wrapped an arm around Jenna’s shoulders. “Good luck this week, Coach. You need to beat the Bend Lava Bears, at least. They’ve been trashing our school.”
Jenna frowned. “They’re not as cocky as Summit though. Those guys are weasels.”
“Dick weasels,” Simon murmured, glanced at Marlie, and flushed.
“Who’s a dick weasel?” a deep voice added.
