Instead, I’m sweating my balls off waiting for a reply text.
My phone is silent.
My blood pressure is probably in the danger zone.
And this hallway is quieter than the library during finals week.
I turn to head back downstairs when I hear a throat clear behind me.
“You need something, Norris?”
Yeah, a bucket to puke into.
“Hey, Coach.” It’s a wonder I manage to choke the words out and make them sound normal. “Nah, I just—” My mind goes blank and I can’t think of what to say next.I just want to crawl in bed with your niece?Or maybe,I just want to see if my girlfriend’s okay. Oh, yeah. My girlfriend’s at your house. She’s your niece.Definitely not,I’m so in love with your niece that I can’t think straight.
Proving that there is a god—and she’s a hockey fan—Coach hands me a save. “You couldn’t sleep, either, huh? Come with me, Norris. I know where my wife keeps the good stuff.”
I follow Coach downstairs and into the kitchen. He had us all over for a team dinner tonight, but he wisely had it catered by The Gatehouse, so Mickey didn’t manage to burn Coach’s kitchen down. He may have broken the disposal while we were doing the dishes, but I’m not dumb enough to bring up that little detail.
Coach reaches into the cabinet above the fridge and I’m about to remind him I’m still underage, so giving me a shot of whatever “good stuff” Jules has stashed up there is probably a bad idea. I’m no snitch, but I feel like I’m breaking enough rules these days.
He doesn’t bring down a bottle, though. In his hand is a small brown tin. He sets it on the counter, grabs the milk from the fridge, and tells me to get the saucepan in the cabinet next to the dishwasher. I do as I’m told, and five minutes later I’m sharing a cup of hot chocolate with my coach, which is fucked on several levels. First off, did I land in an after-school special? I don’t even like chocolate. And if he hadn’t found me creeping on his steps, I’d be in his niece’s bed right now…
Fuck. My. Life.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to come clean. To just lay it all out there. He’s a man in love with his wife, so he’ll get where I’m coming from. He’ll give me the stink-eye for sneaking around and he’ll threaten to cut off my balls if I make his niece cry. We’ll toast our hot cocoa mugs and practically be related before heading off to bed.
Damn. Maybe there is some special ingredient in this drink that’s making me hallucinate.
“It’s good, right?” he asks, holding his cup up. I nod because I’m not about to piss the guy off and tell him this too-sweet cocoa is wasted on me.
“Jules knows I have a sweet tooth, so she keeps hiding it. If she didn’t, there wouldn’t be any left for her to enjoy. It took me a while, but I found her hidden stash.” He darts a glance up the stairs. “My niece, Margo, has a sweet tooth that’s worse than mine. You better finish what’s in your cup or she might sniff it out and come downstairs to claim it.”
Jesus, Coach.
Again, I’ve got nothing to add to the conversation that isn’t completely inappropriate. I’m keeping my mouth shut so I don’t accidentally spew something about his niece’s secret stash or what she can claim if she comes downstairs.
Yep, I don’t have anything PG to say, so I’m not saying anything.
Lucky for me, Coach is unusually chatty tonight. We rehash the game plan in case Will gets cut, we go over thestats of every player on Claybrooke’s roster for the four-hundredth time. When the clock strikes two, I’ve drunk more hot cocoa than ever before in my life, and I feel ready for our games this weekend.
We say our goodnights and I head back to the guest room down the hall where I can finally check my phone. There’s nothing new from Maggie, so, like an idiot, I reread our earlier conversation looking for clues.
JT: You look fucking hot in those jeans.
Maggie: Stop. Also, thank you. And enjoy the view because I’m going back to my soft stretchy leggings as soon as I get upstairs.
JT: You look fucking hot in leggings, too, for the record.
JT: You haven’t touched your dinner. You okay?
Maggie: I’m not hungry. We ate out all week at the conference and I’m kind of done with rich food.
JT: Having a thrilling conversation with Kersey and his girlfriend, I see…
Maggie: Oh. My. God.
Maggie: They have talked for ten straight minutes about what song they should dance to first at their wedding. They are my age. They are not engaged. And their taste in music sucks.
