I’d been preparing for the worst. I thought I would be unceremoniously fired and escorted from the building by security.
Instead, I’m heading into the coaches’ offices to get paperwork signed. Not the worst way to be spending this morning.
“Hey, Olivia,” Danica, the coaching assistant, greets me as I walk into the offices.
“Hi. I’m looking for”—I run my finger over the paperwork,looking for our new coach’s name—“Stanley Easton.”
“He’s back in the office. You know the way.”
“Thank you.” I smile at her, heading between the shared workspace toward the back of the offices. I recognize a few people down here, am friendly with them, but I don’t make a point to socialize with people from the office.
Finding the correct door, with a brand-new name placard on the front, I knock.
“Come in.”
“Am I interrupting—” Peeking my head inside, my jaw hits the floor.
There is no way this is happening. There is no way that the man sitting in front of me is the man I went home with last night.
Tag.
My legs wobble. I cross the short distance in the small room and drop down into a vacant seat. I clutch the papers to my chest like they’re the only lifeline I have.
I slept with our coach.
“Alfie, would you give us a minute?” His eyes stay locked on mine.
If only the ground would open me up and swallow me whole.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Perfectly fine.”
I do my best to ignore the assistant coach as he gets up and leaves the office. I have no issue with him. It’s the man that has a grin that would make the Cheshire cat proud.
“Well, isn’t this a surprise.” Tag leans back in his desk chair, crossing his arms over his chest.
His very well-defined, muscular chest. One that I spent the night exploring.
Don’t go there, Olivia.
“You said your name was Tag!” I hiss. It’s the first thing that comes to mind.
Is it possible to die of embarrassment? Because I think I’m about ready to take my last breath.
This is why I never do anything impulsive.
Sleeping with a man that I had one conversation with before I suggested we go back to his place? I never do that.
And he just so happens to be the new coach of the hockey team that employs both of us.
Maybe no one will talk about this in my eulogy.
Oh, who am I kidding? Imogen would love it.
Died of embarrassment after having a one-night stand with the hockey coach.
“I go by Tag. It’s a nickname. Stanley is too stuffy for me.”
