Maisie: Yes, sir.
Coach:
I don’t hear from Wilder again, but I did watch as the Hellcats won their game against Mississippi State last night. I sent him a text congratulating him on the win.
It’s slightly funny that I used to not care at all about hockey, but now, I’m watching games, showing up at the arena, and checking scores. And having hot, sweaty, forbidden sex with the coach.
Apparently, all it took to pique my interest was the latter part of that.
He’s supposed to come over for dinner tonight, but I haven’t heard back from him yet on when he’s coming over, and it’s almost two o’clock.
Even though I’m worried about sounding… I don’t know, overeager… I send him a text anyways.
Maisie: Still good for dinner tonight?
I’m walking into my library sciences class as I do, so I put my phone away in my bag so I can focus on the lecture. The one thing I can’t do is let my GPA fall because I’m… preoccupied.
Everything takes a back burner when it comes to getting my degree and going to grad school. Becoming a school librarian is my lifelong dream, so even hot coaches have to come second.
That’s why I don’t see his response until I’m walking out of class an hour later.
Coach: Rain check. I’m sick as shit. Got some kind of bug at the game last night, I guess.
Shit. Disappointing, but I also hope he’s okay.
I quickly respond.
Maisie: Oh no Do you need anything? Anything I can do to help?
He doesn’t respond to the text for the rest of the afternoon, even after I’m done with classes and back at my apartment, my books spread over the coffee table in the living room, my brain desperately trying not to recall what happened in this very spot last night. I need to focus. But I’m failing miserably at that.
Not just because I’m thinking about last night, but because I’m worried about him.
I hate being sick. Especially now that my parents aren’t around all the time anymore, and I have to take care of myself like a sad, miserable adult.
Swiping my phone off the table, I send a text to Lennon with the thought that just popped into my head.
Maisie: Is it clingy if a guy is sick and you bring him soup? Just to be nice?
Lennon: And by a guy, you mean your coach, right?
Lennon: And just to be clear soup as in…
Lennon: Vegetable? Or like something different?
Maisie: Saint has officially corrupted your sweet little mind, Len. Yes, like actual soup. Not soup.
Lennon: k. Yeah that got weird quick HAHA
Lennon: It’s not clingy at all. Honestly, he’d probably appreciate it if he’s feeling really bad.
Maisie: So I should definitely make him soup and show up at his apartment, right? Just so we’re clear.
Lennon: For sure. Be safe, love you byeeeee
My mom makes the best chicken noodle soup in the entire world, and thankfully, I learned how to make it a long time ago for my little brothers. Fortunately, I have all the ingredients already, so I’m able to throw it together on the stove in just over an hour.
Thirty minutes later, I’m parking in front of Wilder’s apartment building.
