Coach Me

by Lulu Pratt

“I don’t want to get fired,” I explained mildly. “And I want you to win your upcoming games. At the rate you girls are fooling about, it’ll be a wonder if we make it past round one. If you’re all serious about winning championships, you need to start acting like it.”

  “Are we in trouble?” came one meek voice from the crowd, probably a freshman.

  I sighed, and replied, “No, not this time. But that’s it — that’s the end of my patience. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, Coach,” whimpered a chorus of voices.

  There was one last scolding I had to hand out, and it wouldn’t be easy. I steeled myself for the confrontation.

  “And Catya?” I said, my voice pitching lower than I’d intended.

  Her downcast eyes shot up, and met mine with a blaze. Was she ashamed? Angry? Scared? I couldn’t even begin to read the tea leaves that were her micro-expressions.

  She didn’t speak, just stared at me mutely. Was she on the verge of tears, and were they alcohol or humiliation induced? God, I was a horrible person.

  But this had to be done. If not, how could I lead them? How could she lead them?

  “You’re captain,” I said. “You set the example around here. Getting hammered with the team before a practice isn’t a good example.”

  The field had gone quiet, save for the echo of crickets from the nearby woods. The moon was slim in the night sky, as though it was trying to hide. Much like Catya, I thought. Though not quite as beautiful.

  “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “It won’t happen again.”

  Good enough. Plus, the eyes of all the other teammates had gone so wide they threatened to pop out of their sockets. I sensed that if I gave her any more of a browbeating, it would either undermine her leadership, or turn the whole team against me.

  “Okay,” I said, attempting to lighten the mood. It was no fun being the bad guy. Though there was a good chance few of them, if any, would remember a word I’d said — they were well and truly sloshed.

  With a laugh, I added, “Did you bring any of the booze with you?”

  A classic guilty glance bounced between each girl and another.

  I sighed, “You may not have realized this, but you lot are awful liars, so I’m gonna take your faces as a big ‘yes’ to that question. Would anyone like to fess up?”

  “It’s under the bench,” Riri blurted.

  How had I even missed that? Man, they weren’t the only ones off their game.

  “Go fetch it,” I replied.

  She nodded anxiously, and scampered — well, tripped — across the field and to the bench, from where she retrieved an entire case of beer. My, my. At least they were serious drinkers, though even from across the field, I could see it was a shitty beer.

  While she was busy toddling back, I said, “Sorry to confiscate it, but many of you are underage. Them’s the breaks.”

  I felt like a real shitdick having to do that. Of course I’d had alcohol confiscated in my time, and naturally, I’d resented the hell out of whatever poor adult was stuck with the task of trying to discipline me. But it was one thing to let them off without a punishment, and another to let a bunch of minors under my supervision get wasted — though in London, mind you, they’d all be legal-age adults. Still, while in America, I had to try to abide by even the most outdated laws.

  Riri finally brought the beer back to our loose semi-circle and deposited it in the center, as though it were an animal sacrifice.

  We all stared at it for a moment, and then when our focus began to feel a bit too pagan, I broke the silence with, “You’re all free to go.”

  Sharon-Ann timidly asked, “What’s our punishment?”

  Oh, right. Punishment. I thought about it for a moment, then replied, “There’s not gonna be any punishment this time.”

  The girls began to whisper to one another in shock and glee, but I shushed them.

  “Now, that’s not to say that the next few practices will be easy,” I hedged, “but there won’t be huge consequences. The hangovers you’ll have will be punishment enough. All that in mind — the pranks and shenanigans are done. You’ve had your fun with me, but the hazing ends here. Deal?”

  They nodded in unison. Something about the sincerity of my speech must have truly chagrined them, because they looked legitimately guilty for taking advantage of my good nature.

  “All right, dismissed,” I said.

  As they stumbled off field, I called out, “Catya?”

  She whirled around to face me, and I beckoned her back over. She traipsed back and drew to a halt, until the lone case of beer was the only thing between us. Her tan skin was flushed with liquor and her lips quivered. I swallowed, reminding myself that not only could we absolutely not be together, but that thinking about her like that, right now, while she was drunk, was so morally decayed it defied description.

  “Can you stay for a moment?” I asked politely.

  Her words slurred as she replied, “Simon, I can stay for however long you want.”

  Now what the hell was that supposed to mean? Was she drunk, or were these her true feelings? I had to talk to her, but God, she was not going to make it easy.

  Chapter 14

  Catya

  I was fucked.

  Simon was going to hamstring me, I just knew it. He’d been tough but fair in front of the other girls, but why else would he ask me to stay, if not to verbally berate me for what was, admittedly, a really bad decision? The teacher’s pet in me wasn’t prepared for the scolding, sure, but that wasn’t the upsetting part, if I was being honest — it was the thought that Simon might be disappointed in me.

  And was he going to comment on the crotch grab? This promised to be a truly painful encounter.

  My hands clenched in fists, nails digging into the soft skin to keep me from crying. I steadied myself for whatever was coming next.

  So you can imagine my surprise when, without warning, Simon knelt down. For a wild second, I thought he was about to propose. What can I say? My drunk brain is a mess.

  Instead, he tore open the cardboard container surrounding the beer, reached a long hand inside the box, and pulled out a single can.

  “What are you doing?” I asked. Wow, I’d really disposed of all niceties.

  He didn’t seem to mind. “Having a drink, if that’s all right with you,” Simon replied.

  It’d be pretty damn hypocritical if I denied him that, so I said, “Um, no. No, go for it, of course. That’s… not a problem.”

  He stood up, cracked open the can, took a long sip, then sighed.

  “This is piss,” he commented, in a casual tone that didn’t match the judgment of his words.

  “I know.” He was right, though in our defense, we were college students and couldn’t afford better than piss.

  He wiped a hand across his lips, and I felt my underwear dampen. Why did his every move look like it belonged in a rugged advertisement for designer cologne?

  “So you’re drunk?” he queried.

  I hesitated, and he said, “I was serious, I’m not going to punish you.”

  “Yes, I’m drunk,” I admitted, then hurried to add, “But I’m twenty-one, so it’s legal. I mean, stupid, definitely stupid, but legal.”

  He gave me a once-over. “You handle your liquor like an American.”

  “This may surprise you, but that’s because I am an American.”

  Simon laughed. “Touché.”

  He took another sip of his beer, and seemed lost in thought. I watched his brow furrow and resisted the urge to smooth out those lines with my fingertips.

  “So what you said today,” he began slowly, “that was all because of the beer?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I said with total honesty. What was he referring to? Much to my own mortification, it appeared I’d lost bits of the evening. Or maybe I’d said something casually that he took to heart? It wasn’t clear.

  He eyed me intently. “Are you being serious?”

  I nodded, and then w
atched with a heavy heart as he exhaled, a long, deep puff of wind. Oh, oh no, I’d let him down. That was the wrong answer. Obviously, he’d desperately wanted me to remember whatever it was that I’d said. I racked my brain for the answers, and came up only with blurry, Tilt-a-Whirl booze recollections. Shit.

  “What are you talking about, Simon?” I asked, needing to know the answer, to account for my actions.

  “Never mind.”

  “No, really, tell me—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” came his short reply.

  What had I said?

  Nobody likes blacking out. At best, it was a little embarrassing. At worst, it was ruinous. In my case, it was vital that I knew what I’d said, or done, to the hot coach who I’d been fantasizing about. Not knowing was worse than knowing.

  “You won’t tell me?” I pressed.

  His lips tightened, deepening the hollows of his cheeks. In the moonlight, he looked like a fallen angel, chained too tightly to the earth, his face a mask of torment.

  “No,” he murmured, his resolve firm. “I won’t.”

  I wasn’t ready to abandon this discussion, but Simon evidently was, as he continued, “You have to do better.”

  “What?”

  “For the team, you have to be a better example.”

  Well, I remembered enough about the night — my short-term memory hadn’t been completely shot — to know that he’d just said this in front of the whole team. Why was he belaboring the point?

  “I know,” I whispered. “You already told me that.”

  He laughed at my consternation. “Yes, I suppose I did.” His hands twitched and tightened around the beer before he said, “But it bears repeating because… because… because, Catya, you’re an incredible player.”

  My heart fluttered. “Thanks.”

  He shook his head, and spoke more firmly. “I mean it. You’re a hard worker, and you’ve got a gift. And you’re—”

  He cut himself off, as if physically swallowing whatever the next thought had been. I ached to know what words had laid inside his mouth and almost been given breath.

  “You’re wonderful,” Simon finished, and I wondered if we were still talking about my soccer abilities.

  “So are you,” I returned.

  We were clearly going into uncharted territory, and while I desperately wanted to visit those new lands, Simon had other plans. Why was he being so good when all I wanted was to be so, so bad?

  That’s the alcohol talking, my brain offered, but that wasn’t true. It was every part of me crying out in unison to jump into his arms, press his lips to mine and ride him until dawn.

  Simon interrupted my crazed thoughts to say, “I think you could go to the Olympics.”

  This shower of compliments was getting to be too much. I could resist him when he was scolding me, but not when he was praising me.

  So before I knew what I was doing, my subconscious took hold of my mouth, and blurted out, “Could I get some private training sessions with you?”

  His brows quirked. “What?”

  Oh man. I’d started this, and there was no pretending like it hadn’t happened. I forced myself to finish the thought. “Private training. I want to get better, to be Olympics-eligible, like you said, but I don’t wanna take time away from the team. Could you maybe — and it’s okay if you can’t — but could you, um, train me alone?”

  I’d said it. I hadn’t really thought it would emerge, fully formed, from my body, but it did, it did and now all I needed to do was sit back and wait for Simon’s inevitable rejection. I’d gone too far, this was the line in the sand and—

  “It would be my pleasure,” he replied, his words heavy with implication.

  What had I just asked him for, really? Was ‘private training’ a code word? I knew what my drunk self thought it meant, but he was unreadable. By the way he said, ‘my pleasure,’ though, I was pretty sure I had the answer.

  This was a capital-B Bad Idea. Would we be able to keep our hands off one another? After a series of close calls, I didn’t know how much longer I could withstand the agony of waiting. All I wanted was him, inside me, filling me until I gushed happiness.

  But this was selfish, so selfish. His job was at risk, as was my scholarship. There were huge life consequences at play, and it seemed impractical to ignore them. If I threw away my shot, would that make me too immature to even be dating a grown man like him? Were there just too many obstacles in our way? Maybe in another life, we would’ve worked seamlessly, would’ve come together like two halves of a whole, but in this one… in this one, was it not meant to be?

  The notion tore through me like a knife. I had to be with him.

  And, I thought to myself, justifying what I was about to agree to, the private training sessions, devoid of any romantic and sexual context, are a good idea. They’ll take you to the next level.

  Yes, what a great point. In fact, they would help me keep my scholarship secure. The better I played, the less likely I was to lose it. Right? This was an excellent plan.

  Or at least, that was what I told myself, over and over and over again.

  And, er, it had been my proposition, so technically speaking, backing out now would look… suspicious? Weird? I wasn’t sure. I thought it would only serve to underscore that there were other issues afoot.

  Private training it was.

  “That’s awesome,” I said aloud. “I’m excited to train with you.”

  What did I mean by ‘train’? God, it felt like my every word was laced with innuendo, as though I just couldn’t help myself.

  “And I as well,” he replied. “I bet you could teach me a thing or two.”

  I blushed. “You’re kidding, right? You’re like a soccer god.”

  “Then you’re ‘like’ a soccer goddess.”

  A laugh burst from my throat. “Are you making fun of my ‘likes’?”

  He grinned. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  Those white teeth, standing in such strong contrast to the stereotype image of British dental care, looked about ready to take a bite out of me. Yum.

  “Okay then,” he said. “You’ll meet me tomorrow, bright and early. Eight.”

  “But it’s already two,” I replied, growing pale.

  “I thought you liked early morning runs.”

  “Yes,” I agreed, “when I get sleep.”

  He shrugged his shoulders innocently. “Guess we’ll just call this payback for drinking during practice.”

  Oof, he had me there. And I’d thought I was gonna get off scot free. How naïve.

  “I’m gonna be hungover,” I warned.

  “Yuuuup,” Simon confirmed, his lips trying to hold back a large smile.

  “This punishment is cruel and unusual.”

  “Spending time with me is that tortuous?” he said, with faux disappointment.

  No. Never, I thought.

  What I actually replied was, “Ugh, all right, way to guilt me.”

  The lips which had been restraining a smile broke into a full grin.

  “You’re funny, you know that?” he asked.

  “Hah, thanks.”

  He continued, “Most girls wouldn’t talk to their coach like that. Don’t I, I dunno, intimidate you, even a wee bit?”

  I drew myself up, pulling my shoulders straight so that I could meet his gaze dead on, as though I were a cowboy going into a duel.

  “I can take you,” came my reply.

  Simon licked his lips, and replied, “Is that a challenge?”

  Feeling a bit full of myself, drunk on nerves and, er, actual beer, I stepped in closer, as though bracing for a showdown.

  “You can call it that if you like.”

  “Hm, very confident,” he replied, amused. “Too confident. I think we’ll just have to whip you into shape tomorrow.”

  “You’re welcome to whip me all you want,” I said.

  I watched his chest heave up and down once before he reined in his breathing. Damnit. Why wasn’t I abl
e to get under his skin the way he could get under mine? It made me feel weak.

  “Tomorrow, eight,” he reiterated. “Meet in the forest.”

  “Where in the forest? It’s a big forest.”

  “How about that clearing where you knocked me over?”

  “Hey, that wasn’t my fault,” I protested. “You were in my way.”

  He laughed. “Okay, I’ll give you that one. Do you think you can find your way back to that spot, or should we meet at the front entrance?”

  Of course I could find my way back. That spot was the first time we’d touched, the first time I’d felt his naked skin. My body had grown an internal compass that could lead me back there at a moment’s notice.

  Aloud, I said, “Yeah, sure.”

  “Great, then I’ll see you then. Now go get some sleep.”

  Sleep? Hah. As though that would come tonight. No, I’d be too busy anticipating alone time with Simon.

  “Okay,” I replied. “Be sure to bring your A-game.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I will.”

  Chapter 15

  Simon

  I was up painfully early the following morning, my mind swimming with thoughts of Catya.

  What on earth had I agreed to?

  A couple of thoughts — I didn’t know why I made our training so early. It was as if I momentarily forgot that that meant I too would have to get up at the asscrack of dawn. Okay, not the asscrack. Seven in the morning isn’t a bad rising hour — well, provided you went to bed at around eleven. I wasn’t in bed ‘til past two, and even then, I laid awake thinking of you-know-who. Then, she’d been soused last night, that much I knew to be true. Would she remember agreeing to this session, or would I be stuck alone in a forest, looking like a dope? Finally, let’s say she remembered it. What then? Last night, the tension between us had felt electric, as though were in perfect sync, the sparks between us passing with jolting rapidity. Did that make sense? It was hard to explain, to an outside observer, what it feels like to fall head over heels for someone else.

  There were other questions, so very many other questions, each more inane than the last — but I won’t bore you with them. If they bored me, which they did, they will inevitably bore you.