As my orgasm begins to fade, anger surges, and I toss the toy out of sight, as if it will spare me some of the regret. I thought it would feel good to take the edge off, but the momentary relief is nothing compared to the heavy weight now dropping in my stomach.
I can’t believe I just did that.
Not only because he’s my coach, but because of how he acted today. How he shut me out. It’s not the first time, and I doubt it’ll be the last.
I hold onto that anger until my eyes grow heavy. When sleep finally claims me though, it’s with phantom touches of his hands on my body instead of my own.
21
Lennon
For once, I wish Grace would’ve stuck around to watch tape with me and Coach Holloway. It’s been a few days since he blew me off at practice, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what shifted between us.
And what I did alone in my bedroom the night after? Long forgotten. But it still doesn’t make sense to me. During the game last weekend, he was present and engaged and…excited for me. Every time I glanced over at the bench, his eyes were always on me.
Then in practice that day he shut me down and has been cold ever since. Even during our one-on-ones, he’s kept chatter to a minimum and turned into a drill sergeant in the weight room. My aching thighs and back are a testament to the rigorous training he’s been putting my body through.
But Grace had a final this morning and was excused. I stayed up way too late last night, cramming to get a stupid paper done for my Interpersonal Communications class and was tempted to skip out this morning. But we haven’t had a chance to review thegame footage from my shutout, and I’ve been excited to watch it back. So now, I get to sit here in suffocating silence in Luke’s office with him.
The computer monitor is turned sideways with the footage playing. But I’d be lying if I said I’ve been paying any attention to it at all. It’s impossible to.
Not with Luke sitting at his desk across from me, hair pushed back from his forehead like he’s been running his fingers through it all day. His hand is fisted as he rests his chin against it, staring intently at the screen and never turning his eyes toward me. He’s in a blue Huskies long sleeve today, and the material is tight around his chest, biceps, and shoulders. Like come on, he had to have known what he’s doing when he picked it out.
He speeds past the footage where our team is in the other zone and slows it back down every time Westlake regains possession and brings it back to my end of the ice. But he never speaks.
Not when I step out of the crease to keep a play going like he had told me. Not when I manage to stop two rebounds in a row. Nothing.
His jawline is sharp and rigid, as if it’d be painful for him to open his mouth and speak. The air in his small office grows stifling, and I take a sip from my water bottle. It cools down my throat and relieves some of the burn inside of me that only seems to grow stronger every time I’m around him.
I didn’t want to be the first one to crack, seeing as he seems to be the one with the problem, but I can’t take it anymore. Not even the sound from the tape is enough to distract my racing mind.
“Do you have any feedback for me?” I ask, voice scratchy from sitting in silence for so long.
Luke simply shakes his head, not taking his eyes off the footage.
“Seriously?”
“What do you want me to say?”
I sputter. “I thought we were past this.”
“Past what?” He speaks in that old, monotone way of his, and I hate it.
“You not caring about your job. Not even trying,” I spit.
Finally, those dark eyes slowly turn toward me and pin me back against the chair. “Did you ever stop to think that me trying to keep conversation to a minimum between us,isme caring about my job?”
I chew on that for a moment, but it doesn’t make sense. If he cares about my success, he needs to be able to communicate with me. Not regress back to how we once were. “We still need to talk,” I argue. “If you’re not going to give me any sort of direction or feedback, then what’s the point in caring about your job if I’m going to fail?”
He looks pointedly at the film, where I make another block. “You’re not failing.”
That simple affirmation from him brings back a small ounce of pride I felt after the game.
“Thank you,” I murmur, averting my gaze.
“If you keep it up, and so does the team, you’ll get your goal.”
The championship. It seems so far away, but yet the months are passing me by. This entire semester has flown by. Time seems to move quickly when you don’t have much of it.
