“Where do I find Hansley?” I ask.
He glances at me, perplexed, before pointing to the stairs. “Down. Take a right. He’s the third door on the left.”
“Thank you.”
He smiles, nodding, as I make my way to the stairs. The stairwell is much cooler and I shiver as I go down. I’m surprised when I find the hall downstairs is also painted—this one in blue, white, and pink. The trans flag. For a minute, I smile and press my hand to it.
This one thing about Rainbow Dorset is something that never fails to make me smile. I love the message it sends. I love how this one thing, each wall with a different flag, unifies us. It makes everyone understand that no matter who you are or how you identify, we see you. You’re perfect.
Sighing, I let my hand slip away and start moving down the hall again. I’ve never been in this building except for the other day when I wanted to check out the all-important, washed-up, ex-pro hockey coach. Otherwise, I’ve never stepped foot inside.
It’s nice down here, even if a little bland. There’s nothing on the floor, just cement, but it’s polished to a shine. The walls, as said, are the trans flag and painted in a mirror image along the entire length of the hall.
The hall is wide, as many of the school’s halls are. Ahead, I see doors, so I move in that direction. The first says ‘Physical Trainer.’ The second is ‘Assistant Coach Denis Fraud.’ And the third I come to a stop in front of reads, ‘Head Coach, Hansley Bardot.’
For a minute, I don’t feel the drive to talk to him. I don’t care. Why should I care? But when I glance down and see theflyer in my hand, I immediately get pissed again. It’s not as hotly burning as it had been, but I can’t just let this slight pass!
Straightening my crop top, I knock loudly on his door.
“Yes?”
Taking a breath, I push it open and take several strides inside. Not allowing myself to look around, I search long enough to orient myself to face this man. This gorgeous, gorgeous man.
“What is this?” I demand, slamming it on the desk.
Hansley looks at it before meeting my eyes, his eyebrows knit in confusion. “Announcing our tournament,” he says. “Encouraging our student athletes to sign up.”
“This was my idea!” I hiss. “How dare you!”
He looks at me, perplexed. As if I’m going to believe that. Is it hot in here? I think the temperature just turned up, but I refuse to sweat. Sweating is not good for my makeup.
“One of my players suggested it. I didn’t ask where he came up with the idea from,” Hansley says. “I’m sorry if I?—”
“You can’t just throw random tournaments,” I insist. “That’s not how it works. You need permission, especially permission from other coaches seeing if they’re comfortable allowing their players to participate.” I need him to stop talking. I swear, I can feel his voice trickling down my spine like warm fingers.
“I sent an email last week to the entire department,” Hansley says. “Including you, Coach Frost.”
Fucking emails. Those are the worst inventions ever. Who uses those anymore?!
“I have told several members of your team who have expressed interest in participating to speak to you first because I’d yet to hear from you,” he adds.
For some reason I can’t quite grasp, this only makes me more furious. How dare my kids! The betrayal!
My heart beats wildly as I stare at him. Why does he have to be perfect?
No, Lemon! On task, dammit.
“Also, I received permission from Dean Devaroe before I announced it.”
“You can’t just put it up all over the school,” I insist. “That’s spamming. You didn’t ask permission to put it up on our bulletin board.”
“I’m part of the athletic department, Coach,” he counters, frowning. “I chose to have my office here because it makes more sense. Not because I’m a separate department. That means I’m allowed to put it up on the athletic bulletin board.”
I’m fucking fuming. I hate how smooth his voice is. Like burning alcohol as it moves down your throat and makes you shiver. I hate how beautiful his eyes are. That’s not even fair. It’s shit. In fact, I hate everything about this moment. Did he just lick his lips? Ugh!
Turning around, I come face to face with a rolling white board. The words across it are BID ON A DATE WITH AN ATHLETE and then it bullet points some things:
