Page 300 of Seasons of Love
I war with myself in front of the semi-nude man of my dreams while he’s completely unaware that if he told me to roll over and bark, I’d do it.
And, of course, I fucking look. Who wouldn’t?
He has the most perfect-looking bulge under that towel. I bite my lip.
“What’s wrong? Why are you knocking on my door like the world’s about to end?” Coach asks.
I open my mouth to talk, but it’s as if the connection between the part of my brain that makes words and the part that instructs them to come out is broken.
“Can you not stare?” he asks.
“I’m sorry…um…I saw smoke…there was…”—I point to the area where the smoke disappears through the window— “smoke.”
He scratches his head, which causes his pecks to flex, killing my two remaining brain cells.
“I put bread in the toaster before I jumped in the shower. It got stuck, so the toaster didn’t turn off. Unfortunately, burned toast makes a lot of smoke, so I opened the window to let it out.”
“Oh, so no imminent danger of your cabin burning down,” I joke.
“Not today. Look, I feel a little underdressed here. Do you mind?” He gestures for the door.
“No, I don’t mind at all. I guess we’re even now, Coach. Although…” I take a step forward and whisper. “I had a lot less towel than you, so you still owe me.” I wink.
“Get out,” he says with a clipped tone, taking me so much by surprise that I step back and almost trip on my bootlaces.
I run back to my cabin.
When the door shuts behind me, I close my eyes, feeling every single bit of my pride dented, and then I close the curtains on the window facing Coach’s cabin.
My phone is full of notifications, and I remember I was messaging Brandon before I saw the smoke. There’s a bunch of worried texts, which I don’t understand, so I scroll up to where I left off our conversation.
I know you won’t want to see this, but I figured it’ll be all over the news, so it may as well come from a friend. Click the link and call me after if you want to talk. Love you xx
I click on the link in the message below, which takes me to a sports news website. I almost fall to my knees when I read the headline.
Harley Bruce makes history as the first-ever NFL male cheerleader.
I skim through the article as the journalist gives a brief history of Harley’s cheerleading career leading up to this key moment.
What they’re missing are all the lies he told from the moment I met him until he ruined my dream.
11
COACH
The man has been fucking with my head since I met him. The fucking inspirational quotes. The fucking pen holder. All the fucking cakes.
And even when I came to the place I bought to be on my own, he’s still fucking here.
I spent all morning chopping wood because it was the only activity I could do to expend the most energy. It wasn’t until my back was killing me and my stomach demanded food that I stopped.
All fucking morning, I couldn’t get the image of Bubble dancing from my head, and that was after a restless night where he seemed to be the main character in all my dreams.
And then, he turns up again to check on the non-fire I caused by leaving the toaster unattended for five minutes.
I get dressed and throw some shit between two slices of bread. I need to learn how to cook if I want to have more than sandwiches for lunch and frozen meals for dinner.
My phone rings and I answer without looking to see who’s calling. “What?”
