Clay
It’s been a long damn week.
Early mornings, back-to-back practices, and the usual whispers that follow when a story hits the press. I’ve kept my head down and focused on the team, drowning out all the noise because that's what it is. Noise. But by the time Friday rolls around, I’m done going through the motions.
Tonight’s about her.
The second I pull into the parking lot of Tessa’s dorm, I already feel lighter. The air’s cool enough to wake me up, that crisp kind of January chill. A few dead leaves stick to the damp pavement, and there’s a faint shine on the cars from last night’s rain. I grab my bag and check my phone before getting out. There's one unread text from Tessa.
You can come up whenever you get here. Be aware, it’s a mess, so no judgment.
I chuckle to myself. Of course, she’d say that.
The dorm looks the same as it did the last time I was here, although Tessa finally got around to taking down the garland around her door now that Christmas is over. A few students recognize me, but for the most part, they don't say too much, thankfully.
I knock twice on her door, and as expected, it opens to pure chaos.
Clothes draped over a chair, an open suitcase still half unpacked from winter break, notebooks scattered all over her desk, and a pile of laundry ready to tip over onto the floor. In the middle of it all stands Tessa. Her hair is pulled up, cheeksflushed, and that familiar spark in her eyes when she sees me lighting her face.
I take it all in slowly, biting back a grin. “Wow.”
She narrows her eyes. “Don’t start.”
“I wasn’t gonna say anything.”
“You don’t have to, I can see it on your face. You know, it’s all very hypocritical considering you’re still living out of boxes.”
“You’ve got a point,” I say, stepping inside. “Although I have a reason. Why unpack when I will likely be moving soon? If I stay on as the coach, I want to find a house. If I don’t, well...”
“Maybe you have a point, but I've been busy since we got back from break. Classes, catching up on assignments, trying not to get drilled with questions every time I walk across campus. I haven’t exactly had time to… organize.”
“Organize?” I look around, pretending to study the mess like I’m evaluating a play. “You sure you’re not already running a system? Piles for clean, piles for dirty, and piles for ‘still deciding’?”
She gives me a mock glare. “You’re funny.”
“I try.”
She tosses a sweatshirt into her duffel and zips it closed with more force than necessary. “For the record, some of this is clean laundry. I just haven’t folded it.”
“Sure it is,” I tease.
“Coach, don’t make me bench you before our date even starts.”
Hearing her say “our date” gets me. I reach for the front of my pants, gripping my hard length, debating whether I want to make us late by tossing her on her bed, covered in clothes, and fucking her.
Before I can respond, a voice cuts through the room. “Oh my God, please don’t tell me...”
I turn to see her roommate—Summer, if I remember right—standing in the doorway with a mug in her hand and the widest grin I’ve seen in days.
“Summer,” Tessa warns, already bracing for whatever’s about to come out of her mouth.
“What?” Summer says, eyes flicking between us. “I thought I heard voices, but I didn’t expect to find you and Coach Barlowe about to take a trip to pound town...”
I laugh under my breath while Tessa groans. “Please stop talking.”
Summer ignores her completely, smirking at me. “Look who it is—Mr. GQ himself. The one who’s been stealing my girl and sending her back all smiley and thoroughly fucked. Nice work, Coach. Keep it up.”
Tessa hides her face in her hands. “I’m moving out.”
