For the last several days, I’ve done very little but pace my office when I’m inside. I can’t believe I’ve had Hansley’s dick in my mouth.
While I initially went through the wholewhat is wrong with mephase, I’m now just trying to figure out why I keep falling down that rabbit hole. And… also… when will it happen again?
I know myself. I’m not one to lie to myself and pretend that I’m a bigger person and can be professional andnottouch this man again.Obviously, I want him. The fact he seems willing, if not eager, to participate means that I don’t actually have to convince myself to stay away from him.
But that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t stand him. He came here and ruined everything. It’s bullshit. I’m frustrated and still struggling to make the few thousand dollars in my budget multiply into twenty thousand.
The deans know I have expensive taste. My team is fucking good. So what if we don’t win championships? I stand by the fact that I’ve earned the privileges I have by sending so many students to the NFL. I bring in money. We’re one of the most sought after teams for football in the west. Probably in the country, though I didn’t do that research.
Why should my budget be cut just because they hire a washed up hockey player?!
Scowling, I turn toward the window and freeze. Speaking of hockey player… Hansley is sitting in the park with Zarek and Dean Quinlan Stommer. At first, I’m a little irritated that there’s a dean sitting with them, apparently talking and laughing all casually.
Then I remember that Stommer and Zarek have some home life they share. For a while, I tried to figure it out because it was perplexing, but you know what? I don’t even care.
I’m still irritated at seeing them sit together. Because Hansley’s laughing. Smiling. And he’s never turned that smile on me! I hate how gorgeous it is. I hate that he’s so selfish with it, only smiling at literally anyone other than me. I hate that I can’t hear what they’re saying.
I flip the locks on the window and then struggle to push it up while trying not to break a nail. When I can’t get it to budge, I glare at it. Stupid window hates me too.
A knock on the door has me spinning around.
“Fuck’s sake,” I mutter, running my hands down the front of my dress. “Why not just act like you’ve been sucking the hockey coach so the world knows?!”
Clearing my throat, I give one last glance out the window before taking my seat behind my desk. “Yes?”
The door opens and Peyton pops his head in. “We’re a little early for our meeting, but if you’re not busy…?”
I nod and gesture for them to come inside. My three favorite players walk into my office with poster boards, pads of paper, and other things that I can’t quite make out.
I’ve put them and a work study in charge of fundraisers. Not only would I not know where to start, I seriously have no interest. And I’m super irritated that we have to lower ourselvesto do them to begin with. We have much more important things to do!
“Okay,” Eli starts as he sets a folder on my desk and slides it to me. “The school has a very full calendar this year, so we’ve worked around it, and I think we found some great times. I talked to Coach Denis and asked if he’d mind if we set up our first wave of sexy bake sales at the tournament next week, and he was supportive.”
“Why didn’t you ask Bardot?” I ask, already feeling irritated that he’s made my kids feel unwelcome.
“Because you don’t seem to like him and we didn’t want to upset you by approaching him,” Winston says, shrugging. “Denis seemed neutral, though.”
I internally wince. Wow! I’m kind of transparent, huh? I nod for them to continue.
“We’re going to spread out the bake sales throughout the year,” Eli continues, “focusing on or around other events but only ones that are prepaid for. You know, when tickets are bought ahead of time. That way, we’re not competing for money. We talked to Dean Stommer, and he’s happy to let us set up a booth at the fall festival coming up, which might serve a double purpose since a bunch of us signed up for the date auction, so we’ll be up there in little bathing suits.”
“You’re going to be at the festival this year, aren’t you, Coach?” Peyton asks.
“Of course,” I say. “I usually make an appearance.” By appearance, I mean I take a quick walk through and then leave. Honestly, what kinds of contributions do I have to offer from football??
Although, Alka always gives a signed soccer ball as a silent auction item. I suppose I could do that. Or maybe a jersey? People like jerseys.
“We thought we’d start the dog walking part after the season, which I know is a little late for this year, but there’s a local high school that’s offering the same service. Uh, more fully clothed. We think that the younger generation is going to garner more support and thought we’d just avoid competition.”
I’m instantly irritated that the stupid high school stole that idea from us. We could do it better. And we’re totally willing to let the goods show. To give everyone a nice view as we handle their dogs.
“Fine,” I grumble. “Car wash?”
“Between the tournament and the festival,” Peyton says. “I think we can get some local businesses to donate the soap and stuff. We’re still looking for a large parking lot that has water and power access.”
“What do we need power for?”
“We thought we’d offer inside washes too. Nothing huge—a quick vacuum and a wipe down, but we can charge more for it.”
