“There are a few new additions to staffing this season that I’d like to make you aware of. Nigel St. James, whom many of you will remember from his help last season, has agreed to a more permanent supporting position with the team.” Severalpeople gasp, and one of the freshmen sitting in the corner muttersfuck yeah. Coach doesn’t bother to hold back the smile this time. “He will be working with our forward lines.”
“Lawson, too?” someone yells from the back of the room.
“Yes. On occasion, he will be here as well, but not on a scheduled basis, so do not get your hopes up.”
Nate snorts and nudges me, likely trying to share the excitement. Anthony Lawson came to practice a few times last season, and although it was fine, I really preferred working with Carter Morgan over the summer. The closer in age people are to me, the safer they are.
“Desmond Gates will also be joining us as an assistant coach.”
My stomach drops as Coach Mackenzie gestures toward the man. Of course he’s the assistant coach hire. Of-fucking-course. I’m going to have to look at him all season, and try not to be awkward or blush or say something embarrassing about how handsome he is. Might as well kill me now.
“Thank you,” Desmond Gates murmurs in response to a chorus of greetings from the more friendly members of the team. He’s got a hint of an accent, but the words were spoken too softly for me to get a good read on it. Again, because I can’t seem to look away, his eyes meet mine. This time I manage to smile back, but I fear it looks more like a grimace. He probably thinks I have a stomachache.
“Where are you from, Coach Gates?” Nate pipes up, never one to be shy. Clearly, he heard the accent, too.
“Moved here over the summer from Australia,” he answers, which is super great for me. Go ahead and give the sexiest man I’ve ever seen the sexiest accent. Why the fuck not? “And please, just Desmond or Des is fine.”
This news is met with a minor explosion of excitement, aseveryone in the room ranks him higher on the badass scale. He smiles faintly at the sudden attention, and Coach Mackenzie just shakes his head.
“All right,” he says, cutting everyone off before they can pick up too much steam. “You can interview him later. One more thing to discuss before we let you go. We are in need of a new captain this season, and although we usually take a vote, I don’t imagine it is needed this year?”
“Vas, Vas, Vas,” Juno chants, banging his fist on the bench beside him. Vas looks over, brow furrowed as though he’s puzzled.
“Vas,” Cooper adds.
“Agreed,” Nate puts in, clapping a hand on Vas’ shoulder and giving him a little shake.
“I figured as much. Vasel, any objections to being in charge of these miscreants?” Coach asks him amid a round of laughter.
“Oh, but, sir, I am thinking there are better choices than me,” Vas says immediately, which only makes everyone laugh harder.
“There’s really not,” someone puts in, earning another round of agreement.
“Well,” Vas says, looking embarrassed. “Thank you. I will try my best.”
Coach Mackenzie is fighting a losing battle with another smile. Next to him, Desmond isn’t trying at all, but grinning down at his feet.
As he promised, the meeting wraps up after that. Nate nudges me with his elbow and struggles to his feet, very obviously favoring his side. I glance over at Coach Mackenzie, willing him to notice, but he’s talking to a pair of freshmen and facing the opposite way.
“Let’s go talk to him,” Nate says, nudging me again, this time with his foot. He back-nods toward Desmond. I shake my head.
“No, I’m okay. You go ahead.”
“Come on,” he prods, holding his hand out as though the reason I don’t want to go is that I can’t stand up on my own. Sighing, I accept my fate and follow him over to talk to our newest and hottest coach. Every inch of me burns.
“Hi, I’m Nate Basset,” Nate says in greeting, holding out his hand. “Defense.”
“Desmond Gates. Coaching staff,” Desmond replies, one brown eyebrow arched and amusement in the tilt of his mouth.
His eyes, which really are the exact same shade as his hair, track over to where I’m standing behind Nate. The pair of them are about the same height, which means if I were to hug him, Desmond’s chin would sit perfectly over my shoulder. Jesus, but why would I hug a coach?My face, which is probably the same temperature as the earth’s core at this point, heats further. I wipe my palms nervously on my legs.
“This is Micky,” Nate says, reaching around to put a hand on my shoulder and squeezing. “Jack McIntire, if you want the full mouthful.”
Oh, great, and now I’m thinking about full mouthfuls.
“Hey, bud. How ya going?” Desmond holds out his hand to shake mine, the same way he just did with Nate. I stare at that hand for what is probably far too long, and my anxiety takes this moment to remind me that I’m not making a good first impression at all.
“Nice to meet you,” I manage, grasping his hand. Nate’s is still on my shoulder, likely because he can see exactly how uncomfortable I am right now. He doesn’t let me flounder,but neatly takes hold of the conversation and draws Desmond’s attention back to him. My skin tingles with awareness, long after his hand is no longer touching mine.
