Page 47 of I Want to Know What Love Is

“And the problem is?” I snort.

“Getting shot down and handed my ass, possibly thrown off the team, if I proposition her with shagging and she doesn’t like the idea. Or even if she does like the idea, which I think deep down she would, she’s not about to go along because it’s her fucking coaching job at stake if she’s caught.”

“I see your point. There’s danger.” He pauses and his grin goes evil, a look I’ve seen before and it’s usually a premonition of good times to come, but this time no, not at my expense.

“Get whatever thought you have in that depraved head of yours out and banish it forever.”

“You haven’t heard my idea yet,” he says. I must be part cat because my curiosity insists that I listen.

“You have a commercial shoot at the Winnie Area Animal Rescue Center on Thursday, right?”

“How’d you know about it?” I’m surprised because I haven’t talked about it, not even to Amanda.

“The production company I work for is doing the shoot. I’m in charge of managing it. And it so happens I arranged for a certain SPU coach to play a role opposite you in the—”

“You did not fucking ask Amanda—”

“I most certainly fucking did. Did you know she got her dog Paul from the LAARC?” He waves his hand, but I’m stupefied into silence by the balls on this guy. I knew he was into acting and directing and had some kind of film company gig, but it never occurred to me I’d be working with him to shoot the public service ad that old man Harley set me up for. “She agreed without blinking to do it and got permission from SPU without a problem of course. But…”

“What?”

“I get the idea she doesn’t know you’re also in the ad.” I shake my head in confirmation.

“So what? So I show up and she’s there and we shoot a commercial together. She’ll behave professionally and so will I and then we’ll go our separate ways. That’s hardly going to lead to alone time and a chance for your so-called shock-treatment.” The idea of a massive collision of bodies exploding into life-altering orgasmic shock waves to rid us of our destructive obsession has all the wrong kind of appeal. In fact, I can’t imagine the shock would leave me numb to her charms. I can’t imagine anything other than becoming more addicted than ever, needing repeated shocks in the form of mind-blowing orgasms, again and again, on into infinity.

“What would you say if I could get you some alone time with coach Lake?” I give him a skeptical look.

“I’m serious. It’s the old forced proximity trick. It works every time. You put two chemicals in the same beaker and va-voom. An explosion of epic proportions ensues.”

Nearly choking on my sip of ice-water which is supposed to cool me down, I laugh and spray water. But he’s quick enough to put his hands up and then slaps me on the back because I can’t believe he’s serious.

“You’ve been watching too many X-rated science shows—what porn channel is that from?”

He scowls at me in mock disapproval the way he always does. It’s why he’s so hard to take seriously.

“I’m using a metaphor. But you knew that and the only reason you’re not taking me seriously is—”

“Because you’re couyon?”

“Because you’re a chicken shit,” he says. Ouch. Direct hit in the heart of the target.

“Guilty. But there’s a lot at stake.”

“Your heart is just as important as your career, Dylan.” It’s the first serious sentence he’s uttered since I’ve known him. The first one that hits me like a golf club to the gut, painful and true.

“Who said this was about my heart? I thought we were assuming I have a bad case of sexual obsession.” He shakes his head, still serious as an executioner at a hanging.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re shit for a liar?”

“Pretty regularly.” My gut clenches as I maintain my smirk until my face feels like it’s going to crack under the weight of the chicken shit fear because he was right. He nods, seeing through me like I’m a pane of glass. I may as well be naked I’m so exposed.

“This is what we’re going to do and don’t bother arguing with me because extreme situations call for extreme measures. I’ll be in charge so nothing will go wrong. No dogs or students or coaches will be harmed in the execution of this plan.”

“What plan? Do I even want to know?” I shove a shaky hand through my hair and my chicken shit heart pounds like a drum roll.

“You definitely do not. Just show up for the shoot and do what I tell you.” I glare into his beady cocksure eyes for a few beats and then nod my head.

“You’re running the show. If that’s all I need to do, then my expectations are pretty fucking low. She’ll come in, try and hide her surprise when she sees me and we’ll both do whatever you tell us, say our lines—probably finish in one take because we’ll need to get it over with fast and move on because it’ll be so awkward. I’ll need to leave before my head explodes and she’ll need to leave because she can’t stand the sight of her biggest fucking potential mistake. At this point, she probably wishes she never laid eyes on me, never heard of me.” Dooley claps his hands, a wry smile returning to his face.