by Mariah Dietz
Coach Craig smiles. He can’t be much older than Maggie. Likely, he’s a football player who never made it to the draft, and this is his way of continuing his dream, living vicariously through dozens of others who he can attribute their success to his knowledge. I’ve met too many like him before. He steps forward, a pressed, powder blue dress shirt under a navy sports jacket that enunciates his wide shoulders. His hair is a dark mahogany, the light revealing hints of red. I’d bet a burrito he spends more time on his hair each morning than I do based on the sleek pompadour it’s combed back into, the edges perfection.
“It’s nice to officially meet you,” he says, extending a hand, his blue eyes shining with a smile that touches his lips, a heavy dose of a five o’clock shadow that I’m sure is intentional makes looking at him feel nearly sinful. He’s beautiful in the way models on the pages of magazines are. His hand is warm, shaking mine fully, not just taking my fingers like so many do.
“It’s nice to meet you, as well,” I say, debating my next words.
“Paxton, is there somewhere I can plug this in? Maybe somewhere quieter where the team isn’t going to keep walking in front of the screen?” Coach Craig asks, lifting an iPad.
He nods, glancing at Mom. “You mind if I set them up in Dad’s office?”
“No. That’s perfect. Go ahead.”
Pax leads us toward the kitchen, but Coach Craig waits for me to follow before falling in behind me. I pass by several of their teammates, spotting Maggie with a plate of chips as she talks to Coach Harris. Derek is by the fridge, a drink in his hand, his eyes on me, drinking in each inch of me with appreciation shining in his caramel eyes.
I feel Lincoln watching me before I notice him, tucked back, talking with Arlo and Quinton, their starting defensive linebacker and Ian, the defensive linebacker who never remembers me. I turn my attention back to Derek, the easy smile on his lips that tells me all I need to know. I pause for a moment, turning to Coach Craig. “I’ll be right there.”
Coach Craig blinks, working to read the situation. His eyes cross to Derek and me, then he flashes a quick smile. “Of course.” He continues toward Pax.
“Could we talk later? I agreed to watch some tape with Pax, but if you have a few moments, I’d really like to talk to you for a few minutes tonight.”
Doubt crosses his features. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. I just…” I blow out a short breath. “I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”
“I’ll be here. Anytime you’re ready.”
I try offering a hopeful smile, but with my feelings so frayed, I’m not certain it’s convincing.
Coach Craig and Pax are in Dad’s office, a space I rarely venture into because it’s filled with old books and a giant desk that’s always littered with a thousand papers. An overstuffed brown leather couch sits across from a large flat screen that’s usually dictating news stories. Pax is connecting a cord to the TV. He stands back, changing the input until a football field covers the screen.
Pax backs up like he’s going to leave, and I attempt to lasso him with my gaze. He pauses, setting the remote on the small end table where a Tiffany stained glass lamp sits—a gift from Mom when Dad got his position as Dean of Business.
“Paxton shared with me some of the patterns you caught with Colorado, and I was hoping you might look at Texas with us because they’ve been slaughtering teams, and everyone’s attributing it to their offense, but anyone who knows sports, knows an offense is nothing without their defense.”
“Coach Craig, I’m flattered—”
He gives a gentle laugh. “Craig. Just Craig. They have to call me Coach because the school insists, but it’s really weird to have others call me coach. It makes me feel old.” He brandishes a wince that makes him look almost boyish, making me second-guess his age.
“Craig,” I start again. “I don’t know that I’m qualified to give you much advice. I’m sure you guys would have seen the same plays. I just got lucky.”
Coach Craig glances at Pax. “He warned me that you’d say that.” He smiles again, his stare deliberate, like he has a confidence that quells my own. “If you don’t find anything, that’s fine. You’re kind of my last hope, though.”
“Coach already has it dialed to the part we need help with,” Pax says.
I glance at the screen again. “Okay. Sure.”
Pax grins. “I have to get back out there. Last time I stepped out while the team was here, Mom put on that old Derek and the Dominos music.”
I want to object to him leaving, but I worry it will come across as an insult, so I keep my mouth shut and move to the couch, sitting at the far end while Craig hits play. He backs up, hitching his jeans slightly before allowing a fair gap as he sits beside me.
“You can see they usually always set up in a three-four,” he says as the defense lines up behind the line of scrimmage. “They have a really strong defensive end. He likes to force people left, which might be our greatest advantage.”
Few quarterbacks are lefties like Pax, and though it’s something teams study closely and are aware of, they often slip up because they’re used to pushing quarterbacks to the left, exploiting their weak hands.
He lets the game play for several minutes, not interrupting it with any more commentary or pauses, allowing me to watch. The problem is, to truly understand a team, it’s necessary to watch numerous games in order to truly decipher patterns and strengths, and all I have are a few clips and a short window with an impending conversation on the other end.
“Do you mind?” I ask, reaching for the remote he placed between us.
“No. No, go ahead,” he says.
I fast forward to watch them line up again, skipping to see their formations on numerous plays before I rewind to compare their first downs, and then second downs, and so forth.
“They’re fast,” I say. “Their nickelback is who I’d watch. They know Pax is a south paw, and they won’t be able to compensate very well, and I’d bet they already know that. If I were them, I’d have my nickelback rush the quarterback to gain a false sense of superiority for the team, and as soon as they made the snap, I’d have the safety, the nickelback, and the cornerbacks rushing to cover the weak side.”
“Lay a trap?”
I nod. “Not that they will. I’m just saying that’s what I’d do. They might not. They’re fast enough they wouldn’t have to.” I fast forward to the one play that stood out the most to me in the quick flash of plays. “Their defensive end is also a lefty. I’d make sure to warn the blind side because he’s a bulldozer, and he’s going to be stronger playing a game against Pax.”
Craig watches the play with rapt attention, only pulling his gaze from the screen when I hit pause.
“I’m sure you already know all this, though.”
Craig shakes his head, a smile toying his lips. “When Paxton told me his little sister was good at reading plays, I expected…” he closes his eyes and shakes his head, a dry laugh blowing between his parted lips before he opens his eyes. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. You read the field better than most players I’ve ever met.”
I shrug off the compliment. He has no idea how many hours of football I’ve played and watched.
“You have an eye for the game.”
“Thanks,” I tell him, standing as I flip off the TV. It’s been over thirty minutes, and I’m hoping the heavy dose of testosterone filling the house has Maggie nearly ready to leave.
“Pax said you used to play as a kid.” His smile is friendly, inviting me to pour out the story of my youth.
“Briefly.” It’s the best summary I can give without getting into the dicey details. “What about you?”
He wets his lips before his smile grows broader. “Briefly.”
Laughter bubbles from me before I can stop it, the sound too flirty and friendly, and as his dilated eyes flash to my mouth, I know he hears it as well.
“So, you’re a freshman thi
s year?” he asks.
I nod. “Did you attend Brighton?”
He licks his lips again, calling my attention to watch. “I graduated three years ago.”
The year before Paxton started, a year after Maggie, making him six years my senior. That familiar feeling of drowning settles over me, the lapping of water at my ears, the stinging sensation against my lungs trying to refuse the sloshing of each wave I keep venturing toward. “Do you know my sister Maggie?” I ask, chucking my thumb toward the door as I take a measured step back.
Craig shakes his head. “I had no idea Pax had sisters until the first dinner here. I meant to introduce myself, but I haven’t seen you around. I figured these dinners weren’t really your thing.” He shoves his hands into his jean pockets.
“It’s been a busy fall. Work and school, plus, I feel a little outnumbered and out of place with thirty something people here.”
He laughs, confidence radiating as he stares at me, like he knows I’m already dealing with too much and can’t begin to consider his intentions.
“We should probably get back,” I say, glancing at the TV where the iPad is connected and hating that it forces me to put the door at my back when all I want to do is escape.
I step too close to Dad’s desk, allowing a wide berth between us as I disconnect the cord and quickly roll it up before grabbing his iPad. As I turn, a paper on Dad’s desk catches my attention, unfamiliar script that seems out of place among all the sheets with words printed in the same Times New Roman script from his computer.
“Thanks again for looking at this with me,” Craig says, stepping forward to take his piece of tech. “If you’re up for it, I would love to sit and diagnose some more strategies with you. The district is tough this year. These guys are swimming with the sharks, and your insight really helps.”
“Yeah. Maybe. My schedule’s kind of crazy right now, but let me know, and I’m sure I can work something out.”
He flashes another smile. “Great. I will.”
“Rae Rae.” Arlo appears in the doorway with a filled cup that I’m betting he’s wishing was something besides water. “Pax said you were back here watching tape. Did I miss the party?”
I nod. “Unfortunately, you did. We were just heading to grab some food.”
“You guys should. The enchiladas are money.”
I use his interruption as an easy out, leading them back to the kitchen where many of the team members are still eating as they laugh about something that was said.
Maggie spots me, standing from her seat next to Pax.
“I’ll trade you Coach Harris for Coach Craig,” she whispers, fanning her face. “He was hot. Where’d you leave him?” She clamps her lips closed as he appears from the hall behind me, smiling like he might have heard her words.
Maggie’s eyes grow round with embarrassment, but then she laughs. “Eat. I’m taking you out tonight.” Her words are too loud, drawing attention from several people, including Craig and Derek.
“Sounds like trouble,” Craig says, hope evident in his blue eyes.
“Where are you guys going?” Pax asks, standing and collecting his empty plate.
“A piano bar downtown called Iron and Oak. Blythe and Patrick opened it a couple of years ago, and I want to stop in and see them.” Maggie pushes a clean plate into my hands. “Plus, I’m going to miss her birthday in a couple of weeks, so I need to get all the celebrating in now.”
Pax grins. “I’m in on this tomorrow. If you guys need a ride tonight, though, call me.”
“Twenty-four hours without Candace?” Maggie asks.
He pulls his head to the side. “We’re taking a break.”
“A break or a breakup?” Maggie asks.
I know it’s a break. They’ve done this a hundred times already, but I allow Pax to admit his chosen fate. “We’ll see,” is his vague response.
Maggie glances at me for clarification, but hounding Pax about this in front of his coaches and teammates seems almost cruel, so I move toward the food, my stomach grumbling at the sight of real food, realizing I haven’t had anything but coffee and sugary sweets this morning.
“Were you guys able to catch anything?” Pax asks, refilling his water.
Craig grabs a plate, falling in line behind me. He nods, glancing at Coach Harris. “You should sit down with her. Let her watch your defense and read them so you can mix it up. She reads the field like it’s a guidebook.”
My cheeks grow warm, feeling the attention of too many on my back.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” he says, his voice quiet, meant only for me. He places his hand on my back, my hair the only veil between his skin and mine, my sweater a dual V neck with a minor drop in the front and a heavily pronounced drop down my back, falling below my shoulder blades.
The enchiladas are my scapegoat, allowing me an easy exit as I scoop two onto my plate, skipping over the condiments and backtracking to the other side of him in order to get taco chips. “I hate the limelight,” I tell him in way of explanation.
His smile appears, like he finds this charming, even intriguing as his eyes follow me too long.
Maggie appears, a full glass of red wine clutched in her hand. “If you’re free, you’re welcome to come out with us.”
Craig looks from me to Maggie, the boyish appeal I’d seen earlier vanishing. “It’s a game night, so I can’t stay out too late, but yeah. Sure. Why not?”
“Raegan, why don’t you take my seat,” Derek calls from the table, scooting his chair back and standing.
The table is filled, though half the team is a short distance away in the living room, including Lincoln, who’s standing near the front door, speaking with their head Coach. His eyes flash to me like he feels my stare. He maintains our connection, crossing his arms over his chest when Craig asks Quinton for his seat beside me.
The seat on my other side vacates long enough for Derek to take it, pulling my attention back to the dining room.
“You know, I was thinking of doing some tourist things next weekend for our bye week. I’ve been told it doesn’t get more Seattle than the Space Needle, and I saw they have a restaurant at the top. We could go get some dinner and then tour the city.”
“She can’t.” I turn at the decline, finding Lincoln, a hand on the back of my chair. “She’s my date to a wedding next weekend.”
If looks could kill, Lincoln Beckett would die right now as I glare at him.
30
I glance in my rearview mirror, waiting to see headlights, though I know they won’t be Craig’s because he told us he was going to stick around at the house for at least another hour. Still, the idea of him coming out with us is nearly as unwanted as the explanation I need to provide Derek, considering he left before I finished eating.
“What’s going on?” Maggie asks, watching me from my passenger seat.
“Have you ever liked someone you know you shouldn’t?”
“Are we talking about the hot coach? Because he’s not that old. It wouldn’t be a big deal. I’m sure Mom and Dad would get over it pretty fast. I mean, he’s a year younger than me.” She shrugs like the idea is simple.
“I’m not talking about him.”
Maggie leans closer. “I’m listening.”
“I just mean the question as a hypothetical.”
“Is it for self-preservation or because you’re worried you’ll hurt someone?”
“Either.”
“Well, it depends. If it’s self-preservation, you should listen to that voice carefully. In my experience, it talks the loudest when you’re around someone you know is going to hurt you deeply or those you know have the capability of hurting you most. It takes sense to avoid the first and a lot of strength for the second.”
“What about in the case of fearing you’ll hurt someone?”
Maggie shakes her head. “Life is too short to make sure you’re pleasing everyone. When it comes to matters of the heart, you have to care less about what others think and more a
bout what you need.”
I think about her words and debate if they’d change if she knew Pax was the one I’d be hurting.
“You sure there’s nothing you want to talk about?”
I glance at her again, wishing our time didn’t have a definitive ending. “I’m sure.”
“What are you going to do when Coach Craig tries kissing you tonight? Cause he’s totally going to put the moves on you, just to give you a heads up.”
My gaze jumps to her, fear rounding my eyes. I’ve kissed two boys in a little more than twenty-four hours. Adding a third name to my list makes my stomach roll with unease. “No. Definitely not.”
Maggie’s laughter fills the space of my car, a warm and welcoming sound compared to the dread she’s just evoked. “He might be a gentleman and ask you on a date first?”
“I can’t date him. He’s Paxton’s coach, and he doesn’t seem like one to understand boundaries.”
“Did he make a move on you?”
I shake my head. “No, he just … stares a lot.”
Laughter echoes, making my lips involuntarily tip northward. “He was hot. You want guys like him staring at you,” she assures me. “Unless, there’s someone else…”
My GPS interrupts her, advising us to take a left.
“I’ve barely made friends since starting college. I don’t think I’m ready to start a relationship with someone who will bring me farther outside of that world.”
“I support that, though, you could entertain the idea of putting him on the back burner and dating him in a year. He’s hot, and he has a confidence that makes me guarantee he’d be a really great lay.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Maggie points to an empty parking spot that I glide my car into as I consider her words. I know exactly what she’s referring to because being on the receiving end of Craig’s stare made me feel like he was imagining me with my hips propped on the desk and my legs spread. It’s shockingly similar to the look I’ve caught from Lincoln, though with Lincoln there’s an edge to it that seems significant, a quiet and refined authority that has me positive he can read more than just my thoughts but my body.
