I’ve imagined this moment since he gave the team permission to participate. I imagined him bidding, winning. I imagined picking him up with a giant bouquet of flowers. I imagined the way he’ll look at me.
“Sold,” the announcer says, and all those imaginings fade away until I’m staring at Coach in present time.
I don’t walk to the side, but jump off the front of the stage to make my way through the crowd. I stop in front of him and cross my arms over my chest. “I’m not sure I was clear, Coach.”
“You’ve been crystal clear, Peyton. Maybe I haven’t been clear. I don’t date my students,” he answers.
That’s a lame excuse. If Coach Alka can date one of his students, there’s no reason my coach can’t. Maybe I need to try a different tactic. Take the word dating right off the table. Let’s try?—
“Nor do I have any other kind of relationship with my students outside of coach/athlete.”
I huff. “I’m not going to be a student for much longer.”
I’m shocked when Coach pulls me down and wraps his arms around me in a tight hug. My mouth opens, eyes shoot wide. My entire body jumped with surprise. For a second, I just stand there, unsure how to respond. Eventually, my brain turns back online, and I hug him.
I hug him tightly, pressing my face to his shoulder and taking a deep breath. It’s not filled with the sexual tension I always thought touching Coach Lemon would be. I thought I could definitely find a way to urge him to be attracted to me. I just needed some time. I needed to get close enough to… seduce him.
Not the disgusting kind of seduction. I just want him to open his mind to giving me a chance.
There’s nothing of that tone in this hug, though, and… it makes my chest warm. It chokes me up in a way I wasn’t at all expecting. It’s filled with affection. Genuine care. Not all the things I wanted from Coach Lemon, but definitely things I think I’ve needed.
“Thanks,” I say after a while and force myself to take a step back. There’s noise around us, but it barely penetrates the little bubble surrounding me and Coach.
“I’m happy to be your friend,” Coach says, and I feel myself wince. “We can talk about whatever you want as long as it doesn’t interfere with football, but Peyton, this isn’t going to happen. Okay?”
I sigh to cover the way it feels like I was just gut-punched. When that doesn’t feel like it hides enough, I ask a stupid question instead. “Am I too tall?”
Coach stares at me blankly for several seconds.
“Too loud? I have too many muscles, don’t I?”
Coach’s sudden laughter is loud. He shoves me, and I smile reflexively.
“Stop. You’re perfect the way you are. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I can give you a whole bunch of reasons that are all going to sound like lines and excuses, but I don’t want you to walk away with that heavy feeling. So I’m not going to. We’re just going to say that this isn’t going to happen. Not now and not ever.”
I sigh again and nod. “Okay. Thanks for being gentle.”
Coach pats my cheek. “Go have fun.”
I nod but can’t walk away. This conversation is only for today, right? I search his eyes, hoping to see even a smidgeon of attraction or interest. Anything at all.
There’s nothing. He turns and walks out of the tent, his narrow hips in those tight leggings sashaying as he goes. I watch until he’s out of sight before turning and meandering back to the stage.
This sucks. This didn’t turn out how I wanted it to at all. And I was so focused on Coach that I not only didn’t see who won me, but I didn’t see what the winning bid was.
Eli is just coming from the stage. His ending balance is $601.
“Nice,” I tell him. “Not as good as Winston, but nice.”
“Better than yours, Pey,” he says, smirking.
“What was mine? Who won me?”
Eli and Winston give me the same dubious smiles they often do. They’ve known all along that I got it bad for our coach. I haven’t hidden it, and I’ve made it even more obvious this year.
“Just over $400, but I didn’t see who,” Eli says, looking at Winston.
Winston shakes his head. “There are a lot of people out there. Even when a bidding paddle is in the air, I can’t see who’s holding it.”
