Coach’s office was that way.
So was the exit if you were committed to lying to yourself.
I was halfway down the hall when Tiny appeared from around the corner, dragging his leash behind him like an escaped convict.
“Oh, buddy,” I said, crouching automatically. “Jailbreak?”
Tiny came at me with all the grace of a tipped vending machine. I caught his head before he could crush my knees. His whole body wagged.
Behind him, Coach Reid turned the corner. “Of course.”
I looked up. “He chose freedom.”
“He chose the person most likely to reward bad behavior.”
“I haven’t given him anything.”
“You’re on the floor with him.”
“That’s emotional support.”
“For who?”
I had no answer that wasn’t too honest.
Tiny shoved his face under my arm. I scratched behind his ears and tried not to think about how close Coach was standing, about the black sleeves pushed up over tattooed forearms, about the fact that he looked less like a head coach and more like a problem I should not keep walking toward.
“You heading out?” he asked.
“Yeah. Soon. Just had media.”
“I saw the clip.”
My stomach did an embarrassing little dive. “Already?”
“Tessa sent it.”
“Was I terrible?”
“No.”
“Glowing review.”
“You answered the question asked, resisted making Sokolov worse, and didn’t interrupt Roman.”
“So, elite.”
His mouth almost smiled. “Functional.”
“I’ll take it.”
Tiny flopped one massive paw onto my sneaker, pinning me in place. Coach sighed and bent to gather the leash, and for a second we were both looking down at the dog instead of each other. It should have made the moment easier.
It didn’t.
“My sister wants a dog,” I said, because my mouth hated silence.
“Your sister in school?”
