I eye Eli for a few more seconds, but all he does is smile, so I move toward the showers and clean up. The entire time as I work through the process of trying to de-escalate my adrenaline from the game, I try to come up with a scenario where none of this will be weird and awkward, but the more I think about it, the more I regret agreeing to hire Coach Wood’s daughter.
Like . . . really fucking regret it.
And it doesn’t help that Hornsby tells me I have my work cut out for me. What the hell does that even mean?
I power through getting dressed, ignoring the chatter in the locker room, and avoiding reporters. I pocket my wallet, phone,and keys and then head toward Coach’s office without a single goodbye to my friends. It wouldn’t be the first time I snuck out.
When I reach Coach Wood’s door, I give it a knock.
“Come in,” he says.
I push through the door, half expecting his daughter to be in there, but when I see two empty chairs in front of his desk, I realize it’s just me and him again.
He looks up at me from his tablet. “How’s the head?”
“Fine,” I answer. “Good win today.”
“Could have been better,” he says. Under Coach Wood’s regime, there is always room for improvement. It’s why we won last season, and it’s why we’re on track to win this season.
I take a seat. “Is your daughter here?”
“Does she look like she’s here?” he asks.
“No, but I thought I would, I don’t know, engage in small talk.”
“Posey, does it seem like I’m the kind of guy who wants to engage in small talk?”
“Nope,” I answer, rubbing my hands over my thighs.
“She’s on her way. And when she gets here, I want to remind you of the rules we went over.”
“Trust me.” I tap my head. “They’re engrained here. I’m here to teach her a valuable lesson about earning an education and nothing more. I don’t house her. I don’t feed her. We are not friends, and I certainly don’t fuck her.”
“Correct.” He taps away on his iPad. “Because I don’t want you fucking this up, I thought it might be easier on you if I send you a list of things for her to do every week on top of her tasks. That way, you don’t slip up.”
“Oh, shit, yeah, that would be helpful. Nothing too crazy, right? Like . . . getting me adult diapers. Because I know that might seem funny to you, but it’s not funny to me.”
“I don’t have time to joke around, Posey.”
“Right,” I say while nodding. “That was foolish of me to think you would take advantage of the situation and try to embarrass me.”Or that you have any hint of a sense of humor.
“If you slip up, I will embarrass you. Keep that in mind.”
“No need to worry about me slipping up. I’m as solid as they come. Probably the most trustworthy on your team. Well-respected among the team, I’ve led the charge in many missions. I have this in the bag.”
Just then, there’s a knock on the door, and Coach Wood and I sit a little taller.
“Come in,” Coach Wood says.
Yes, please come in. Can’t wait to start this misery.
I hold my breath as the door cracks open, and a very familiar redhead pokes her head in. With a smile to her father, she says, “Is now a good time?”
“Perfect time,” Coach Wood says, his voice a touch lighter than the screaming banshee he is when we’re out on the ice.
And even though there is a distinct difference in the softness of Coach Wood when his daughter steps into the room, that is not what makes my heart beat faster.
Or my skin break out in sweat.
