Then finally,finally, he speaks.
“You’re dismissed.” Cold. Flat. Official.
It should be the end of it. But I can’t help myself.
I take a step closer, just to be a menace. “Sure you don’t want to supervise? I take directionso well.”
His jaw ticks again, and this time I’m almost certain he grits something in Spanish under his breath.
I grin and start walking backward, still facing him. “Catch you later, Coach Gray,” I say, dragging out the vowels.
He doesn’t respond.
But his shoulders tense, and that’s all the confirmation I need.
I turn on my heel and stroll toward the locker room, still sore, still smug, and absolutely certain that whatever this is?
It’s not over.
Later that night,I’m half sprawled across the couch, a bottle ofGatoradebalanced on my stomach and my assstillregistering a formal complaint with the universe. Ty’s floor fan is aimed directly at me like a personal salvation, and the scent of pizza and sweat and bruised pride hangs heavy in the air.
“I’m never running stairs again,” Will groans from the armchair, one foot propped on the coffee table, a heating pad tucked under his thigh. “I’m retiring.”
“You’re twenty-one,” Daniel points out dryly from the floor. “You can’t retire from something you don’t get paid for yet.”
“Watch me.”
Micah cackles and lobs a pillow at Will’s head. “If we’re lucky, Coach Gray’ll retireyounext practice.”
That earns a round ofoohsand laughter. My stomach flips, but I keep my expression locked on casual, even as I toss a red shell at Colton’s kart.
“Don’t be jealous that the new coach wants me,” I say airily. “I can’t help it if I’m charming.”
Colton, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of Micah’s beanbag like some kind of golden boy gremlin, doesn’t look up from the screen. “He wanted to bench you, not bend you.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, feigning innocence. “I’ve seen that vein in his neck twitch. That’s notdisinterest, babe. That’s barely restrained desire.”
Ty nearly chokes on his soda. “You’re gonna die on that field.”
“If I die,” I sigh dramatically, “it better be under Coach Gray.”
“Please stop,” Daniel mutters.
“Never.”
Micah snorts from where he’s half-laid out on the beanbag chair. “You’re playing with fire, Luke.”
I shrug, thumb mashing the boost button. “Fire’s hot. So is Coach Gray.”
Colton groans. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” I say sweetly, “youstillinvited yourself over for pizza andMario Kart, didn’t you?”
“Only because Micah begged,” Colton mutters, dodging a shell with practiced ease.
Micah grins. “Guilty. I missed you this summer and needed to see you in your natural habitat, Luke. Half-naked, overly dramatic, and deeply inappropriate.”
“I ammultifaceted,” I say with mock offense, stretching one leg off the couch like I’m posing for a calendar shoot. “I contain multitudes.”
