Page 32 of Not My Coach
Have I really been that obvious about the disappointment I’ve been feeling? Damn.
“Don’t go all soft on me now.” He chuckles and shoves me playfully.
Smirking, I shove him back with more force than he’s expecting.
“What’s going on though? You usually brush everything off.” Brett leans back in his chair, eyeing me curiously.
“It’s nothing. I’m just stressed about this fall. I still have a lot to do …” Trailing off, I shove my fork of food into my mouth so I don’t have to talk.
“Mmhmm,” he hums sarcastically. “Well, I might have something to lift your spirits. If you’re not too busy, of course.”
Glaring at his sarcasm, I ask, “What’s that?”
“Do you own any fancy dresses?” he asks, and my eyebrows crease as confusion rattles me.
“For?”
“I got three tickets for our fundraising gala, and I figured you, Mom, and Dad might like to come with me. Granted, I’ll be working the whole night. But there will be free booze, good food, and entertainment.”
“I’m in.” I can’t get the words out fast enough as they fumble from my mouth.
My brain starts running a thousand miles a minute. This will be the perfect way for me to see Nate again and show him exactly what he’s missing out on.
Now, I just need to find the outfit that will bring the head coach of the Nighthawks to his knees.
I’ve never been fond of the fanfare that comes with this career, all the showboating and events. It’s exhausting. But I play along and do my part, mostly. Occasionally, I wiggle my way out of things. But tonight is not one of the times that I can do that.
The annual charity gala starts in about an hour, and I’m procrastinating, going down to the rink. I’m already drained, and this event requires a full social battery. Not exactly starting out great.
Signing in to my laptop, I open the tabs that I haven’t closed in two weeks—all of them direct links to Evie’s social media accounts. Every post, every share, every photo, I have memorized them all like the back of my hand.
Most of her posts are photos of her with Gracie, who I have discovered is her best friend.
I also learned that Evie’s birthday is November 2. She’s a Scorpio. She likes eating at fancy restaurants and taking photos of their artistic plates. She loves peonies and white chocolate. All information that is now carved into my brain permanently.
She graduated last fall with a degree in elementary education and will start teaching this fall at a local elementary school. I’ll admit I was terrified when I saw a post sharing that she accepted a teaching job. I was very relieved when I discovered that the school is only an eight-minute drive from the arena. Not that it should matter since she and I won’t become anything more than the fling that is already over.
Gritting my teeth, I shut my laptop, stand up, and slide my phone into my pocket.
Somehow, I have maintained the strength of not reaching out to her. But that might also be because I haven’t seen her since I bent her over on my desk.
I push my chair back under my desk and slowly drag my fingers across the desktop. Flashes of Evie’s body lying out in front of me fill my vision.
“Fuck …” I whisper before trudging to the door and plastering a perfect smile on my face.
I doubt she’ll be here tonight. I’ve never seen her at one of our events before, and I know without a doubt that if she had attended even a minute of one, I would have noticed. It would have been impossible not to because her presence is demanding.
That same presence is exactly what I feel when I walk into the rink. I can feel her, like the air is buzzing with her being near.
A hunger that fills every part of me comes to life, and I’ve never felt more starved for a sweet treat named Evie.
The lights are dim, like a soft, twinkling glow blankets every inch around us.
“Fucking hell,” I mumble under my breath as I spot her.
Her dark hair is curled in loose waves, cascading down her back. Her bare and almost entirely naked back. My jaw tics.
Even God would consider sinning for her.
