I want to be mad, to stand up and scream, but the contrast between her serious expression and choice of words is the most unexpected thing. A laugh bubbles inside.
“You’re cute when angry,” I say without really meaning to.
I look for a flicker of recognition. Her cheeks are the slightest shade of rose, but I’m not sure if it’s from my comment or caused by my poor behavior.
Chin lifted, she says, “I am your teacher. This is my classroom. You will listen to me and do as I say.”
Returning to my position on the field, I say, “In that case, your job is going to be difficult. My old teachers would tell you that I’m not a very good student.”
“No? You’ve never had me as your teacher. This is a school of etiquette, Mr. Wolfe. You are being evaluated and as mentioned, your career rides on your successfully completing this program. I recommend you listen and do as you’re told.”
“And if I don’t?” I ask.
A vein of frustration appears on her forehead as she smooths her navy-blue skirt and lowers into the chair. She blinks her black lashes a few times. Black and blue. Boston Bruisers colors.
“Do you listen to Coach Hammer, Mr. Wolfe?”
“Yeah.” I lean back in the chair.
“Why?” she asks.
I temporarily lose focus, my eyes not sure whether to land on her thick lashes or her lush lips.
She clears her throat, indicating I answer.
“What kind of question is that? Isn’t it obvious? Because I want to win.” And I always do.
“Why do you want to win?”
My eyebrows dip and my lips twist as I lean forward. “Because Iliketo win.”
“Are you sure it isn’t because you don’t want to lose?” She emphasizes the last four words.
I shift back slightly, having never quite thought of it that way before. Her comment gives me pause, not something that happens often.
She shakes her head slowly, almost imperceptibly, as if she knows something that I don’t. “Listen carefully, Mr. Wolfe.”
The way she says the wordwolf, almost with a littleYsound at the end, like wolfy, makes me want to smile. It’s a heck of a lot better than theVsound a woman I dated with a different accent used. That made me think of the vampire movies my brother made me watch when I was a kid.
All the same, her red-stained lips remind me of blood. Like she’s out for mine if I don’t behave. Despite my size, strength, and agility, there is something about her that makes me shiver, but I brush it off as I kick my feet back onto the table.
“Third strike, as they say in your sport.” She writes down something in a leatherbound folder.
“My sport? My sport is football, sweetheart. We don’t have strikes.”
“Well, we do here. No feet on the table.” She looks at my boots like I stepped in a dog pile on the way in. The woman’s eyes slay.
“No phones, no shoes, no service. Any other rules I should know about?”
“We will get to those. First, please answer this question. What do you stand to lose if you fail this program?”
That’s not something I want to think about. “I’m the kind of guy who acts first, thinks later. Consequences rarely keep me from taking action.”
“Obviously. #BruiserButt is a point of fact.”
For the third time in less than thirty minutes, this woman nearly brings a smile to my face. It’s not the wolfish grin either. There’s something under the surface of her harsh rule that’s sweet, endearing. I don’t expect I’ll ever find out what it is, but that prim mouth of hers contrasts with the words #BruiserButt in the most curious way.
With my elbow resting on the table and my thumb under my chin, leaving my pointer finger to run along my jaw toward my temple in the classic thinking pose, I continue, “In this case, I don’t plan to fail, meaning there’s nothing to lose.”
