Something had changed between us last night. We’d gone from casual hookup to a night cocooned under his covers.
“Hey, where have you been?”
I startled at Sonja’s voice as I filled a glass of water in the kitchen. I turned and moved to grab one of the pumpkins she juggled in her arms. “Oh, I went to a party last night.”
She eyed me, her curls loose and natural around her head. She had a way of seeing through you, but I blinked away from her, not wanting to give anything away quite yet. Connor was my secret to keep. I’d never had good luck with men, and no matter how illogical and silly, it felt like if I spoke the words out loud, it would be real and then could break. But if I kept it to myself, it couldn’t hurt me.
Not to say that I hadn’t checked the Douglass handbook to see if relationships between colleagues were off-limits. They weren’t. But I was positive if anyone found out, they’d think I needed Connor to somehow help me coach, that I couldn’t actually win on my own.
“Where?”
“Huh?”
Sonja playfully rolled her eyes at me. “The party. Where was it?”
“The MPLS Adult Education Center,” I tossed out indifferently as I lined up all the pumpkins on the counter, ignoring the little hmm of interest Sonja let out.
“Was it fun?”
There seemed to be more implied in the question, but I was too busy to offer more than a nod, and continued pulling out supplies we’d need for carving: knives, spoons, markers, wine.
“What time did Piper say she’d be here again?” I asked, and almost on cue, the front door opened.
“Marco?” Piper called.
“Polo,” Sonja said.
Piper appeared in the doorway of the kitchen with two green reusable grocery bags.
“You just come in the house now? No knock or nothing?”
Piper grinned at Sonja’s ribbing. “Still got my key. In case of emergencies.”
“ ‘She doesn’t even go here,’ ” I said, quoting one of my favorite movies. Piper and I both cracked up, but Sonja looked on blandly.
“You don’t like Mean Girls?”
“I’ve never seen it.”
My mouth hung open.
“She’s never seen anything,” Piper supplied.
Sonja went about filling up a filtered pitcher with water as if we weren’t talking about her.
“Tell her about your parents and stuff,” Piper prodded.
Sonja bobbed her head back and forth, her voice flat as if she’d told the story a million times before. “My parents raised me and my brother kind of differently. My dad grew up in California in a strict household with a bunch of kids and not much money, and my mom is originally from Berlin, with her grandparents on the other side of the wall. They spent a summer in Bolivia, administering medical supplies, and they fell in love.” Her eyes landed far off on another decade. “They ended up getting married and moving to South America, living in a commune. They had me and my brother down there. We were one big happy, hippie family.”
“What was it like living down there?” I asked.
She scrunched her nose up. “I don’t remember all that well, but I liked being free. I remember running around in the middle of the day with no shoes. I remember hanging out in the village with my adopted abuelas while my parents worked at the hospital. When we moved to the States, all of a sudden we were in a different world. Darius and I had a tough time in school. We moved to Ohio, and all the kids thought we were weird. Our mother is this blonde woman with a funny accent. Our father’s a black man from Oakland. And we spoke Spanish. In the middle of Ohio.”
I wasn’t sure whether it was okay to laugh, but she did.
“My parents kept us busy with activities and school. We had just started to fit in in middle school when we moved here because my dad was offered a job.”
“That sounds rough,” I said. I could imagine moving at that age. Horrible.
“It was, but like I said, we were busy all the time. If we weren’t doing something in school, or violin practice, or running on the track team, we were volunteering. My parents wanted us to learn the value of giving back. I worked in an animal shelter.”
I smiled, because Sonja was always sweet, but especially about animals. Just the other day she’d found a chipmunk on the side of the road with what seemed to be a broken leg that she’d tried to talk me into keeping.
I leaned my hip against the counter, not quite understanding how her history fit with who she was now. “So, how’d you end up boxing?”
She bit the corner of her lip as she put a pack of her no-butter, no-sodium, no-anything-good popcorn in the microwave. She hesitated a few seconds, seeming to measure her words. “I had a rough time in college and ended up in therapy. I started boxing as a way of working through anxiety and regaining focus.”
I nodded. It was quite a way to work out anything.
“What do your parents do?”
“My mom now teaches at a nursing program and my dad is an ER doctor. My brother is completing his residency in pediatrics. I’m the only one not in the family business.”
“Wow.” I’d had no idea, and suddenly my view of Sonja shifted. I’d thought she was this literal superwoman, but she was a black sheep, like me. Like Piper. We all had this in common. In one way or another, we were the odd women out. “I’m impressed.”
“They aren’t.” She let out a pitiful laugh. “I’m in a family of doctors, and partake in a sport that consistently gives me cuts and scars. The irony.”
“At least they can sew you up.”
“True. I mean, they don’t like it, but they aren’t like Blake’s parents.”
I turned around to Piper, who shook her head. “He hasn’t spoken to them in months.”
“Blake doesn’t talk to his parents?” I asked, shocked that good-natured Blake would have an issue with anyone.
“Old money, old bullshit morals.” She made air quotes around the word morals. “They don’t like the Public, don’t like me, don’t like anything that’s not up to their standards.”
“People can be assholes,” I said, “including family.”
“But that’s why we have friends, am I right?” Piper grinned, and rested her head on my shoulder, her hand on Sonja’s head.
We stood like that, all connected, for a while until it got awkward.
“Okay.” Piper clapped. “Who’s brewing the pumpkin coffee? I’ll cut up the roll. Somebody take a picture. I want to social media this. Hashtag basic bitch.”
I threw my arm around her shoulders. “That may be the most millennial thing I’ve ever heard.”
Piper playfully rolled her eyes and grabbed her phone from her pocket. “Just stand there and smile.”
With the press of her finger, I became a #basicbitch. And I couldn’t have been happier about it. We went full-on “basic” with leggings and fleece blankets and Pinterest boards. We talked about everything and anything for hours on end, and after finding out the struggles of these ladies and what they’d each had overcome to do what they loved, I was over the moon to be able to call them my friends and confidantes.
But I still didn’t tell them about Connor.
I didn’t tell anyone about him.
• • •
I WALKED through the halls at school the following week, a secret smile gracing my face when I passed his room. We worked out together in the mornings like buddies, teammates. We spent our afternoons coaching side by side, and then in the evenings parted ways with nothing more than a kiss.
Or two.
Or three.
It was all very clandestine, and I kind of liked it. The undercover glances, sly flirtations when no one was looking. The way his lips found mine in the darkness of a deserted school parking lot. As if we were starring in some classic black-and-white film.
But we weren’t old Hollywood movie stars. We were football coaches, who had a big game coming up. And the few days leading up to the last regular game of the season
did not go well. Nate fumbled all over in practice. Marcus pulled a hamstring. Scottie Butcher, who had improved over the season, losing some baby weight and gaining some speed, seemed to be reverting to his old ways.
I was nervous about the game, but I couldn’t show it. I could never let the team know I had any doubts about them winning, but from the way the week had gone, I wasn’t sure we could pull this one out.
I hadn’t spoken my fears out loud to anyone, including Connor, but with the rate he chomped through Dum Dums as the game progressed, I knew he was anxious too. This time, though, I didn’t say anything about the crunching.
We’d gotten off to a rocky start, trailing by seven almost the whole game, unable to catch up until Jaylin pulled out a forty-yard run, our blockers—including Scottie—clearing the way for him. After the touchdown, I pulled Scottie aside and praised him for coming through. He beamed with pride and took his place on the sideline as we watched the kickoff and return.
Our defense took the field at the forty, and I clapped a few times, calling out to Spencer to keep his eyes open for thirty-three. He did, reading the pass perfectly, and intercepted.
With a few minutes left, we had enough time to take the lead. Connor and I, headsets off, motioned and yelled instructions out to the players. Nate led the team to the line from the huddle, and hit a slant to Marcus right in his numbers for ten yards. From there, Nate put us ahead with some rushing yards, and we were officially in the playoffs.
I breathed a sigh of relief. Coming out of the regular season with a winning record was a big deal. Making it to playoffs was even bigger. Going to state . . . that would be incredible.
As I watched the boys celebrate, I reminded myself to enjoy this moment. A couple of the boys gave me high fives, and I followed the players onto the field to shake hands with the other team. It had been a tough game, but we’d pulled it out, and Tony Schift, the other team’s head coach, congratulated me. It felt good to be acknowledged by my opponent. He praised me for the team’s work, for my work.
But my happy grin faded immediately when I turned toward the sideline, and witnessed Brett freaking Spencer chasing after one of the cheerleaders, flipping her skirt up. Like it was all a big joke.
“Spencer!”
He turned to me, his hair matted to his face from sweat, seeming somewhat surprised that I’d called him.
“Get over here.”
He jogged over to me as the cheerleader clenched the bottom of her skirt in her fists. She wore one of those embarrassed, forced smiles that all girls learn when they’re young. The smile that hides how uncomfortable they really are.
“What?”
“What?” I repeated. “Don’t think me and a lot of other people didn’t see what you were doin’.”
He glanced over his shoulder before looking back at me. Once again asking, “What?”
I poked him in the chest. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you need to respect those around you. Between your attitude and your actions, I don’t think you do.”
He didn’t say anything, his eyes on all the players around me, probably wanting to continue the celebrations with his friends.
“Do you know what you’re doing is sexual harassment?”
His eyes went wide. “Huh? No.”
“You are clearly crossing a line that girl doesn’t want you to. First with the bra strap in science class, and now the skirt of the cheerleader. I don’t even want to think about what you do when you’re not in school.”
He grunted and started to turn away from me, but I didn’t let him. “You look at me.”
His attention slowly drifted back to me, bored. “What?”
“If you want to stay on this team, you’ll go over there right now and apologize to her for your behavior. You apologize sincerely, and I never want to see or hear you treating anyone like your personal play toy again.”
He didn’t move.
“You have five seconds to start walking.”
He crossed his arms in challenge, and I about lost it. Gritting my teeth, I leaned in close. “Don’t test me. You won’t win.”
He smiled, and that was it. I’d had it with him.
“You’re off the team. When we get back to school, clear out your locker. You’re done.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Yes, I can.” I walked away from him.
He followed. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You did. And you know it. We have standards on this team, on and off the field. You know that. You’ve acted like a jerk at practice, whispered things under your breath about other players. You’ve got a bad attitude. And your actions off the field are just plain disgusting. You’re done here.”
“You bitch!” He ran off to the other end of the field, where his father was chatting with other parents. I braced myself for the storm about to hit. Kicking Brett off the team was the right thing to do, and I was well aware of the waves it would cause throughout the team and among the parents. But the kid was a spoiled brat. He needed to learn some manners, and I happened to be tired of trying to teach them to him.
I watched as Brett and his father walked off a few feet from the group. Brett’s jersey was dirty with grass stains and evidence of how well he’d played. I watched Mr. Spencer keep a blank face, until he lifted his head.
Our gazes met, and I saw the fury in his eyes even across the field—but surprisingly, he did not approach me. He patted his son on the shoulder, and they walked off together. I presumed I wouldn’t be seeing any more of them tonight or in the future.
I was one of the last people on the field along with the attendants who were making their way about the grass, picking up the chains and any leftover equipment. I hightailed it out to the bus. Just as I was about to step on, I noticed Jack Spencer talking to Connor.
He pointed toward the field, his face red, and I guessed Connor was taking the brunt of his ire. Connor raised his hands, as if to calm a bull. Mr. Spencer shook his head before walking off toward Brett and his wife. They got into their car and drove off.
I could just imagine the conversation he’d had with Connor, claiming that it wasn’t Brett’s fault. It was mine.
Made me want to puke.
Connor met me at the bus. He took his hat off and ran his hand over his head and face. “What did you do?”
“Brett’s off the team.”
He tilted his head back, surprise coloring his face.
“It was long overdue.”
“I’m not arguing,” he said. “But his father is pissed.”
“Obviously,” I said. I turned around and stepped up into the bus, Connor following me into the first seat. “What did he say?”
“I couldn’t really follow.” He unbuttoned his coat. “Something about getting what’s coming to you. And that I’d hear from him soon.”
“You’d hear from him?” I clarified.
He nodded.
“What’s that mean?”
“No idea.” He rested his head back. “Probably thinks I had something to do with it too.” When I didn’t say anything, he turned to look at me. “You okay?”
His question made me doubt myself. “Would you have done it?”
He hesitated, and I didn’t need him to verbalize his answer. He wouldn’t have done it. He wouldn’t have had to, because Brett wouldn’t act like an asshole to him. He’d demonstrated as much on multiple occasions. But I was a woman, and it was clear that he didn’t respect me.
“Whatever,” I said, redoing my hair with one of the elastics from my wrist. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He leaned in close, right in my ear. “I’ve got a bottle of red at home.”
I smiled. The word home reverberated through my body like a bell. As much as I tried to keep this to myself, I wanted to scream it out. I wanted it to be real between us. I wanted to go home with Connor every night, fight over the open window, and wake up to his early-morning growly voice every day.
“Look
at you being all romantic.”
“Nah,” he said, smirking. “You just tend to argue with me less when you’ve had a drink or two.”
I punched him in the arm.
CHAPTER
24
Connor
I wouldn’t describe myself as a morning person; I didn’t particularly like waking up before the sun, but when you worked at a job that required you to be there for the first bell at seven forty-five, rolling over at five forty-five wasn’t totally abnormal. Waking up next to Charlie was.
She’d won the fight about the window last night after we alternated getting up to open or shut it so many times that I gave up. I’d kicked the covers off of me a few hours ago, but she had the fluffy white comforter up above her chest. I dragged it down to her hip. The glow from the small digital clock barely illuminated her, hands folded up on her chest in that creepy vampire pose.
As I traced shapes into the skin at her waist with my finger, she slowly shifted, but her eyelids stayed closed. “Go back to sleep.”
I inched closer, tangling my leg with hers.
She scooted her hip away from me. “At ease, soldier. It’s too early for that.”
I tried again, running the tip of my nose over her shoulder as I unfolded her hands. She made a noise of dissent but didn’t stop me when I eased myself over her. “Open your eyes,” I said, kissing her jaw. She didn’t, and I lightly kissed each of her eyebrows. “Please.”
They fluttered open, her brown eyes black in the darkness of the room. She blinked a few times, fully waking up.
“Good morning.” I nudged her legs apart with my own.
“Why do you torture me?”
“Because you secretly love it.”
She hmmed her sleepy agreement, and I kissed her. We shifted, rolling in a tangle of sheets until she was over me, her shape barely visible, but I knew it by heart with my hands. I didn’t need my eyes to tell me how her hair hung over her shoulders. I didn’t need to see the goose bumps on her skin when I lightly skimmed her sides, hip to breast. I was already well acquainted with the sounds she made when I kissed her neck and gripped her hair in my fist.
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