Shay.
Her fist is raised like she was going to knock on the door. Little does she know, no one would hear because there’s a good ten feet of hallway before you get to the main room.
“Hey,” I murmur, and her eyes shoot up to mine, a little wide and worried. “What’s up?”
She sucks in a breath to speak, but nothing comes out, so she tries again, her head held higher. “I wanted to make sure we are on the same page.”
She pauses, and I take the opportunity to quickly scan the hallway and make sure there’s no nosy staff or players. All clear.
Tucking my hands in my hoodie pocket, I lean back against the locker room door, pursing my lips to fight my smirk. “Same page as in …” Slowly, my heart rises in my throat.
She rocks back and forth on her heels. “You know …”
My eyebrows twitch. “Know what?”
She huffs. “Matt.”
“Sorry.” Licking my lips, I shrug. “Look, you tell me what page to be on, and I’m there.”
“I like this job. A lot more than I thought I would.” She says it like it’s a bad thing, and maybe in her mind, it is.
“That’s great. It suits you.”
My eyes betray me at that moment, dropping to the Nighthawks hoodie she’s wearing. The few suits I’ve seen her in flash in my mind. The woman looks damn good in a suit.
She’s blushing when my gaze finds hers again. “And I want to keep this job.”
I know where she’s going with this, and as much as I hate it, I understand why. Besides, I also need to focus on my job right now, too, so I can’t be too upset.
She continues, “Which means that we’re coach and player. Nothing more.Possiblyfriends.”
“Deal,” I respond immediately.
Her mouth snaps shut. “Oh, okay. Good.”
“You sound disappointed.” I smirk, knowing that inside that stubborn mind of hers, she’s fighting the pull to me as much as I am to her. “Shay, I’m here however you need me. Player. Friend.” The next option hangs in the air between us, but we both choose to ignore it.
Her next words are pained. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, Coach.” I smile. “I’m lucky to have you.”
As a player. As a friend. As …
With a sharp nod, she turns and strides away, her head unsettlingly straight, like she’s struggling not to glance back. My chest aches slightly when she turns the corner and doesn’t rush back to me. But what do I expect? I didn’t exactly fight her conditions myself.
We have more going on than the connection between us. We can revisit it later, once this season is done. But the thought of waiting another month or possibly more has my skin wanting to peel off of my body.
My phone vibrates a few times in my pocket, and I pull it out to find texts from the guys in our group chat.
JD: Are you fucking kidding? Did you go back for a second shower?
Costy: Hurry up. I’m starving.
Kos: They left. Sorry. We’ll see you there.
And then there’s one more text, this one from my mom.
Mom: Good luck tonight, honey! We’ll be cheering you on! We love you so much!
