Goddamn, would I enjoy that. I’d do it slowly, running my palm over the warm handprint on her ass and letting my fingertips dip farther between her thighs each time. She’s always so polished and poised; I want to reach the raw, untamed side of her and make her whimper for gratification.
“Seriously, though, I’d love to interview you on camera about your reaction to all of it,” she says. “Think about what you want to say.”
“I’m not acknowledging it. That’ll only make it worse.”
Bash laughs from a few rows in front of us, standing as he stows his bag in an overhead compartment. “So anything you say will just make them want you more, Coach? Love the confidence.”
I narrow my eyes. His smile slides away.
“Let’s just have fun with it,” Jules says lightly. “We can do anour coach is hotter than your coachthing.”
“Have you seen Antoine Dumond, though?” Melina quips from the other side of the aisle. “I mean, love ya, Coach, but Dumond is tough to look away from.”
“Traitor!” one of the guys calls out from the front of the plane.
I groan. Everyone on this plane has apparently invited themselves into this conversation.
“We’ll talk about this later,” I tell Jules, putting on my headphones to watch film.
At least I’m planning to watch film. Soon. First, I open Instagram and check Jules’s profile. There’s a new video there, and I click on it.
“Hey, you guys. Winter is approaching, and we’ve got a stomach bug in the house to prove it. I’m not sick yet, so here’s hoping I get spared. I have Kiss My Sass’s new moisturizing gel, and I’m going to try it out.” She pushes down on the pump of the small bottle. “First off, love the packaging. My nighttime skincare routine is already long, and since I’m turning thirty next month, it’ll only be getting longer. I love products that save me time unscrewing and screwing lids.” She pumps a couple drops onto her fingertip and then touches the index fingertip of her other hand. “Okay, let’s see how this goes on ... it feels really good. Light and a little cool. Refreshing. It doesn’t seem oily, which I like.”
Her hair is held back by a terry cloth headband, and her skin has a clean glow. When she’s finished applying the stuff to her face, she smiles at the camera. “Okay, we’ll see how it does from here and I’ll update you. Don’t forget to drink your water and take your vitamins; your skin will thank you. See you soon.”
She’s almost thirty. Younger than I thought, but still too young for me.
So beautiful, though. And her voice. I could listen to her talk about anything. No one can know how I really feel about her.The outwardly ambivalent and stern way I treat her is all an act. Every time I see her, I want her just a little bit more. I’m not sure how much more I can take.
“Evening,sir. What can I get you?”
“Macallen. Rocks.”
The bartender nods and walks away, polishing the last drops of water from a lowball glass with a towel. I’m glad he didn’t try to make conversation, because I’m definitely not up for it.
We lost tonight, 5–1. The combination of Carter being out and Isaac having an off night did us in. Isaac is a great goaltender, but his one weakness is that once a game starts to spiral, he lets it get to him. I gave the boys a halfhearted ass chewing and left it at that.
It’s a major shake-up, losing Carter. Lundgren took his spot in the first line, and he played as well as could be expected given the circumstances. It hurts not being at home, where he could practice with Bash and Leo in his downtime.
My drink is delivered and I take a sip. It goes down easy. This is my drink of choice for both celebrating and commiserating.
I check my phone. No new texts from Audra. I hope that’s a good sign, but who the fuck even knows. Of my four kids, she’s the least predictable.
When I glance to my left, a man a few barstools over gets up to leave, and I get a look at the very end of the bar.
Jules is sitting there alone, a full drink in front of her. She’s staring at it, looking lost in her thoughts.
Her honey-colored hair is loose around her shoulders and she’s wearing leggings and a hoodie.
I return my focus to my own drink, but I can’t help myself from looking at her again. Her usual smile is gone. She has her folded arms resting on the bar, and she’s just looking at the drink.
She sighs softly and reaches out, wrapping her hand around the glass. For a few seconds, she seems to contemplate picking the glass up, and then she moves her hand away from it.
The last thing I should do is go down there and talk to her. I played along with her interview earlier and said I haven’t been paying much attention to the social media noise about me. That was work; I have to interact with her sometimes.
But this is downtime. When we don’t have to fly out immediately after a game and we stay at a hotel, everyone is on their own. Most everyone is too tired to do much, but the option is there.
We’re flying out early tomorrow, headed from Tampa to Vancouver. I should finish this drink and go to bed. Maybe give Audra a call, even though it’s late.
