COACH (Boston Terriers Book 3)

by Jacob Chance

  “I didn’t have to. I told you, I followed college ball and players stats religiously. Your name’s familiar to me.”

  “Yeah, I miss playing. I loved being on the Terriers, but life is all about phases. I made the most of what time I had playing ball and now I’m on to the next stage of my life.”

  “Working full-time and coaching.”

  “Don’t make it sound so exciting.”

  “Is it?”

  “I invest other people’s money for a living, so that can be exciting. It can also be anxiety inducing because in a lot of cases I’m handling someone’s life savings.”

  “What about coaching? Do you like it or love it?”

  “What do you think?”

  “You’re passionate about it so I’d say you love it.”

  “And you’d be correct.” I point to the tavern coming up in front of us. “This is the place I mentioned. They have just about any pub type food you could want.”

  “Awesome. I’m starving.”

  Tugging open the door, I usher Amelia past me. In spite of the late hour, there are still about ten tables being utilized. I check out the occupants and make sure there’s no one I recognize. Being out together might be difficult to explain, but I know if I had to clarify the situation to Mark he’d understand.

  Placing my hand on Amelia’s back, I guide her toward the back of the space. It’s more secluded and there are no windows near the booths. We won’t have to worry about someone passing by and noticing us.

  She slips into the booth and I slide in across from her. “Sooo, what’s good here?” She drums her fingers on the tabletop.

  “Everything. I’ve tried it all. What are you thinking of?”

  “I’m dying for a greasy bacon cheeseburger and onion rings.” Her stomach rumbles loudly and she giggles.

  “I guess it’s a good thing you can get one.”

  “I told you I was starving.”

  “Hey, how are you guys doing?” A waitress appears beside our table.

  “Good thanks,” I reply.

  “What would you like?”

  I nod for Amelia to order first. “I’d like a bacon cheeseburger with extra bacon, mayo, lettuce, tomato, and pickles. Can I get a large order of onion rings with that?”

  “Instead of fries?”

  “No. I want the fries and then I’d like a separate order of onion rings. Can I also get a chocolate shake, please?”

  Damn. Is she really going to eat all this?

  “What about you, sir?”

  Peeling my eyes away from Amelia, I glance at the waitress and order my own bacon cheeseburger with fries and a glass of water.

  “Will that be all?”

  “Do you have rolls?” Amelia asks.

  “Sure, I can grab you some. Butter too?”

  “Mmm, yes please.”

  “I’ll be right back with your drinks and rolls.”

  I wait until the waitress walks away before I ask the really important question. “Where are you going to put all that food?”

  “I think you, like most people, underestimate how much food I can put away.”

  “Clearly. Most girls eat like birds, but I love a girl with a healthy appetite.”

  “Yeah, well I’m not like most girls.”

  “I realize that the more I get to know you. You’re an enigma.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I’m not.”

  “You’re a conundrum.”

  “Shut up,” she laughs. “I’m probably the easiest female you know.”

  “Really?” I quirk a brow, inquiringly.

  She snorts, covering her mouth with her hand. “Wait, that wasn’t what I meant. Let me rephrase my words.”

  “I kinda like thinking you meant them the way they sounded.”

  “Hey, I’m not that kind of girl. I’m not moody or hard to please. What you see is what you get.”

  “You wear your emotions well.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can tell how you’re feeling by looking at your face. You can’t hide when you’re fired up or angry. Your eyes flash like lightning and your brow creases.”

  “I don’t bother trying - there’s a difference.” The waitress returns with a basket of rolls and she immediately digs in. “Sorry, I didn’t offer you one first. My table manners aren’t the best. Being the only girl and having two older brothers I had to fight for every roll or I’d end up with none.”

  I laugh at the image of her being quicker than her bigger brothers.

  “I’m serious. I’d practically leap across the table for one. They were both like human vacuums sucking down everything in their path. I think our exorbitant grocery bills were part of the reason my parents didn’t have enough money to pay for me to come to B.U.”

  “I believe it. I know how quickly we went through food in our house with my brother and I.”

  “Do you guys get along well?” she questions, buttering another roll.

  “Yeah, we do. He’s off at college doing his thing. He’s supposed to visit soon, but who knows if he will?”

  “How old is he?”

  “He’s twenty-one.”

  “Are you guys alike?”

  “We don’t look anything alike.” I don’t bother giving the details of how Jase is my cousin and not really my brother. It’s too complicated to explain how he came to live with us after his parents passed away in an accident when he was only three years old. I was only six at the time and from then on, I was taught to look out for him. I took care of Jase and protected him in any way he needed until I headed off to college.

  Leaving him behind in Pennsylvania wasn’t easy, but time has a way of making things seem less overwhelming. It was good for him to take responsibility for his own actions and do more things for himself. He might not agree, since there seems to be more figurative distance between us. There’s an underlying tension when we do talk. Where we used to confide in one another, now, we’re lucky if we touch base every couple of weeks. He’s busy living in an apartment with his friends and about to enter his junior year of college. He’s been promising to come visit this summer, but so far, nothing concrete has been lined up.

  “I don’t think our personalities are the same either. He’s more outgoing than I am and less focused if that makes sense.”

  “Yes, it does. You seem like a very intense person.”

  I bark out a laugh. “How so?”

  She tips her head, and her eyes narrow as she studies me. “You can be pretty intimidating. Your scowl is enough to make the players shake in their cleats.”

  I lean forward. “What about you? Do I make you shake?” I reply flirtatiously.

  “Yeah,” she sighs. “But it has nothing to do with your scowl.”

  Chapter Nine

  Amelia

  Shit. Why did I say that? My mouth opens and closes like a guppy as I struggle for words.

  “Here you go.” The waitress arrives and sets down the plates of food. I’m thankful for the interruption. Maybe the delicious meal will distract Coach from the inappropriate thing I said.

  “Thank you. This smells amazing,” I tell the waitress, avoiding eye contact with Coach.

  “Enjoy your meal.” She smiles, moving away to check on some other patrons.

  The burger is so large I can barely wrap my hands around it. Leaning over my plate, I unapologetically take a giant bite. There’s nothing dainty about the way I eat. When it comes to food, I don’t play around. All my friends know they can take me as I am or not at all. And any new ones I make will have to learn the same.

  Chewing up the first bite, I groan as I swallow it down. “This is unbelievably good.”

  “Aren’t you glad you decided to come with me?”

  “I am. But now I’m gonna want this food all the time and my tight college budget isn’t going to agree.”

  We eat in silence for a while, the awkwardness I was feeling earlier has waned.

  “Do you have a boyfriend?” He questions ou
t of the blue. I grimace and drop a fry on my plate.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You didn’t leave some poor sap behind when you moved?” He watches me closely as if he doubts my answer.

  “Nope, I really didn’t. Why? Is that so hard to believe?” There’s some bite to my tone. His questions have annoyed me - not because he asked them in an offensive manner, but because my breakup with Jason has made it feel more personal. It’s still a sensitive subject.

  “Why are you getting so fired up? Sore subject?”

  “No, but I take issue with chauvinistic attitudes.”

  “I’m only curious and making conversation. I didn’t mean to offend you in any way.”

  “No, I’m sorry. I’m overreacting. Ignore me while I finish the rest of these fries. Want one?” I must be completely frazzled if I offered him any of my food. I never share with anyone. Ever.

  “Don’t mind if I do.” He reaches over, grabbing one of the best fries from my plate and pops it inside his mouth.

  “Hey, I didn’t say you could take one yourself. I meant I would choose one for you.”

  “A fry’s a fry. What’s it matter?”

  I gasp in shock. “That’s not true. There’s a scale for fry grading. How do you not know that?” I stare at him like he’s some kind of alien.

  He shrugs and a curious smile plays on his lips. “Dare I ask what the best kind of fry is?”

  “Do you mean the style as in shoestring, curly, waffle, seasoned, crinkle, or steak? Or do you mean fast food brands?”

  “I want to know what makes a fry perfect for you.”

  Swallowing down the last bite, I wipe my hands on the napkin in my lap. “There are many factors that play into what makes fries good or bad. My personal favorite fast food fries are McD’s. But if they’re restaurant style then I prefer medium sized ones that are crispy on the outer edges and still soft in the middle. They need to be salted, but not too much and I may or may not dunk them in ketchup depending on how good they are.”

  “Sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought.”

  “You have no idea. How have you not? Fries are potatoes and potatoes go with everything.”

  “I’ve been focusing on all the wrong things it seems.” He winks, playing along and my lower stomach ripples pleasantly. He’s so strikingly handsome, it’s a wonder I’ve been able to string a complete sentence together while in his company.

  “Are you ready to go?” He smiles as if he knows I’ve been thinking about him.

  “Oh, sure. I was just thinking about how we have an early practice in the morning,” I answer with the first thing that comes to mind.

  He grins. Does he know I’m lying? Why wouldn’t he? I’m sure he’s so used to female attention, he probably expects every girl to drool over him.

  He slides from the booth and holds his hand out to help me out. Rising to my feet, I whisper, “Thank you,” and reach into my pocket for some money.

  “Don’t even think of it,” Coach throws some bills down on the table. “I invited you. This is my treat.”

  “No, that’s not necessary.”

  “Amelia, I’m not taking no for an answer. Let’s go. You’ve got an early morning practice.”

  “Don’t you mean we’ve got an early practice?” He angles his head and presses his lips together as if I’m testing his patience. I hold my hands up in front of me. “Okay. Thank you, Coach. I appreciate the delicious meal and so does my stomach.” He chuckles and directs me in front of him as we walk down the aisle.

  Once outside, we begin heading toward my dorm. “Coach, is it too late to change the time of tomorrow’s practice?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Next time I want to extend our practice remind me to do it on the other end.”

  We walk companionably in silence and before I know it, we’re coming up on my dorm. “My building’s right over there.” I point to the tall, tan brick structure with the permanent art display in the windows over the entryway.

  “Warren Towers, huh? I lived there freshman year. It’s a decent dorm.”

  “Yeah, I can’t complain. I’ve got a private room. I wish I could be in an apartment instead, but my scholarship pays for me to live here.” I shrug. “Thanks for walking me home.”

  “No problem. I’ll see you in the early morning at practice. Maybe we can talk after?”

  “About what?”

  “I need to know what your work schedule is so I can make sure you get home safely.”

  I roll my eyes and sigh. “Coach, let’s not start that again. We had a nice night. Don’t push your luck.”

  He nods. “Get inside and go right to bed.”

  “Yes, sir.” I smile and with a quick wave amble over to the main entrance. Tugging the door open, I sweep one last look back at Coach standing there so imposingly large.

  “Amelia, don’t be late to practice unless you want to run laps.”

  “Coach, I just started thinking you might not be a jerk. Don’t ruin it now.”

  Saturday morning inevitably arrives much too early and with it football practice. “Noooo,” I groan to my empty room. I don’t think I can do this today. I’m too exhausted from working late. Waitressing is deceivingly hard work. Those trays don’t carry themselves and unfortunately, the tables don’t get clean on their own either. The muscles in my arms are already on fire and I’ve barely moved. How am I going to find the energy to get through the next few hours?

  What made me think grabbing a bite to eat with Coach was a good idea? Talk about muddying the waters. After last night, he seems more human - much different than the ogre yelling at us at practices. Spending any time with him is a bad idea and getting to know him better is a colossal mistake because it only made me like him more. I can’t afford to like him at all.

  He’s my coach.

  He’s my coach.

  He is only my coach.

  Maybe if I remind myself enough times it will settle into my stubborn brain.

  Rolling my fatigued body over with another pained groan, I sit on the edge of the bed and try to get my lids to open fully, but it’s no use. Finally, I resort to rubbing my palms up and down my face and lightly slap my cheeks. It’s a trick Jason taught me and as silly as it seems, it wakes me every time. Today is no exception, although I do stumble around as I rise from the bed. My feet laboriously scuff as I cross my small room and grab a clean pair of black shorts. Sluggishly slipping them on, I slide them up my legs and sigh as if it’s some difficult task. I tug off the t-shirt I slept in and choose a black sports bra from one of the dresser drawers. Once it’s in place, I slip a fitted purple tank over it, run a brush through my hair and fasten it into an I’m- too-tired-to-give-a-shit-what-I-look-like ponytail. Lastly, I slip on socks and sneakers, not bothering to tie them.

  Today is our first three hour practice and I’m sure it will be grueling because I’m so incredibly exhausted. Isn’t that the way it always goes?

  Quietly slipping from my room, I’m halfway between sleepwalking and consciousness as I drag my feet along the hallway carpet on the way to the bathroom. Envious of each resident still sleeping, I aim dirty looks at each of the closed doors I pass by - like it’s their fault I have practice so early. If I want to assign blame to someone then Zeke… er Coach is the guilty party who deserves it. He’s the one who scheduled our practice an hour earlier than usual. I had no idea how much losing that extra sleep would affect me. Zeke - Coach - shit. He better not make this a regular occurrence.

  God, why can’t I just call him Coach? And when did I start to refer to him as Zeke in my mind? Is it because we shared a meal last night? Whatever the reason, I must always refer to him as Coach and nothing else. Keeping up that boundary of professionalism is a good reminder for me to stay on the right side of it. Once it’s crossed, it can’t be undone and my entire future rides on keeping my scholarship and excelling at B.U. both athletically and academically.

  Entering the bathroom, I head for the sink and splash
some cold water on my face. Studying my reflection in the mirror, I brush my teeth while taking in the dark circles under my brown eyes and the pallid tone of my normally golden skin. I look like death warmed over and I can’t say I feel much better. This practice is going to be tough. I hope I have the strength to do what I need to. You can do this and be back here asleep in your bed within three hours. Suck it up.

  “Amelia.” I grimace and freeze in place as Coach shouts my name. Peering over my shoulder I watch him stalk toward me and spin around to face him. “Why didn’t you stick to the play I called?”

  Dragging my top teeth over my bottom lip, I ponder how to phrase my reply so he’s the least pissed off. He’s been in a horrible mood for the entire practice.

  “Well?” He throws his arms wide, palms up. He’s so impatient.

  “It wasn’t working, so I adjusted and threw to Grace instead,” I explain logically.

  “Are you the coach, Amelia?”

  “No.”

  “No, what?”

  Seriously? My hands rest on my hips and my eyes roll. “No, sir.”

  “When I tell you to run a play in practice, run the goddamn play,” he shouts. “If it doesn’t work we need to figure out why and make sure it will next time. That’s the whole point of practice.”

  “Is there anyone else who wants to tell me how to do my job?”

  “I wasn’t trying to tell you—.”

  “Amelia,” he barks my name, cutting me off. “That’s enough. Why don’t you grab your things and meet me outside the locker rooms in twenty minutes.”

  Tearing off my helmet, I stomp toward the bench incensed at being kicked out of practice. I guess there’s a first time for everything. I’ve always been the star player and hardest worker until I got here. Now I can’t seem to do right, no matter how much I try.

  I can’t believe this dickhead. What crawled up his ass today? He was fine last night. What changed? Teeth clenched tightly, I tamp down on my racing thoughts and keep them from flying free of my lips.

  “Amelia,” he calls out.

  All forward motion stems and I close my eyes. I already know whatever he’s about to say will only incense me more. My lids slowly raise and I spin around, determined not to say anything that could reveal how much he’s getting to me. I’m unsure of whether I want to scream or cry in indignation.