Page 87 of The No Try Zone
I lower my head in defeat. “Yeah.”
He claps my shoulder once, then stands. “Seems to me you tell her how you feel and take yer chances.”
I stare up at him. “You’re shit at this,” I accuse, gesturing between the two of us.
He laughs and takes the empty mug from my hands. “Never said I wasn’t.”
“Yes you did!” I protest. “That night in my office.”
“Oh, then? Yeah, I was lying.” He winks as he says it.
“I should fire you.”
He barks out a laugh and raises both mugs in salute. “You would never.”
He’s right. A few minutes later, he takes his leave and I’m alone once more. I stand and pull the quarter from my pants pocket, turning it over as I think.
Heads, I tell her how I feel now. Tails, I wait until we’re in the playoffs.
I flip.
Tails.
Chapter31
Sam
IDON’T KNOW when, exactly, I became the team’s official yoga instructor, but here we are. I blame our lack of funds for more ice barrels. Because I’d rather throw all these goons into ice baths and enjoy their shouts of torture as they stay in there a good half hour.
Instead, I’ve decided that this recovery day is yoga day. And since there’s no wide open space big enough for all the mats down in the exercise facility, I take them up to the concession area. Now, I’m leading them through the world’s easiest set of sun salutations and warrior poses, and you’d think I was torturing them.
“Lower yourself to the mat. Slowly. Breathe out. Palms flat, next to your armpits. Now raise your chest and breathe in. You should feel the stretch in your spine. Quit groaning, Ansel. Breathe out, and rise up to downward-facing dog.” A collective chorus of grunts follows.
“Try to get your heels to touch the ground. Those legs of yours need to stretch. Yes, Carter, even yours.”
“I take back every nice thing I ever said about you,” he wheezes as I put my hands on his hips and raise them.
“Love you, too,” I smile. “Now be a good boy and take it.”
He huffs a laugh. “I don’t like you anymore.”
I tap his back good-naturedly and move on to the next guy.
We’re in the final ten minutes of class, with all the players in their best imitation of a seated forward bend, when Colin comes into view. I look right at him, meeting his gaze across the breezeway.
He holds the stare, which isn’t surprising. No one is around to see it.
But then his assistant coaches come in behind him, and he still doesn’t break.
My body heats, and my mouth loses all moisture. I return the stare, because there’s no part of me that can stop. This entire thing is toxic, but tell that to my fucking soul.
“Sammmm,” comes Ollie’s whine from behind me.
I snap back to myself. “And relax. We’re almost done, guys.”
Once I’ve guided them into the final resting position – flat on their backs, palms to the sky, legs and arms relaxed, eyes closed – Colin makes his way to me.
“Coach,” I murmur, aware of precisely where we are.
