Scoring The Coach ✔️

chapter four

Chapter Four

I woke up a few mornings later knowing that Mitch was at the breakfast table. He was like the plague. Then again, it's sort of my fault for not communicating that I needed space. Dr. Phil would be so disappointed in me over my lack of clear communication. Oh well.

The question is; how did I know?

Well, I walked into the room and saw the back of his dark hair. I heard his voice, knowing he was charming my parents like he always did. Prince freaking Charming. Every other girl wanted to be with Mitch and here I was questioning why he was even in my house in the first place. I felt like it was an invasion of my personal space, and it frankly made me uncomfortable. But my parents didn't seem to notice, laughing right along with my boyfriend.

I wanted him gone. It wasn't the right way to look at him, but I was doing it.

"So I hear you two are applying to Brown together." My mother's eyes locked on mine as soon as she said it. It was obvious she had no idea how irritated I was and how much I wanted Mitch out of the house.

"Something like that. Right, babe?" He turned his head and looked at me in a way that indicated I had to just agree.

I responded incredulously and tried to mask my indifference. "Something like that."

"An Ivy League!" My father was overjoyed. "How did I get so lucky? You know she's wanted to go to Brown since she started playing because her first coach attended school there. If you asked our girl, she would tell you it wasn't just the best school, it was the only school. Even then she had the biggest aspirations."

Mitch laughed, and it felt oddly patronizing. I didn't like him at all, by that point. I didn't like his stupid laughing or his stupid smiling or how he was acting like he wasn't completely hungover right now.

I don't think he liked that I'd been avoiding him, either. That's why he showed up uninvited, acting like we were a happy couple.

"Come sit." Mom gestured me over. "I made pancakes to celebrate you being the new goalie."

"Goalie?" Mitch raised his eyebrows. "You never told me you were a goalie. Maybe we should go on a date tonight so we can talk more? I feel like I never see you."

That statement alone dripped with passive-aggressiveness. I was the one who was too chicken to break up with him, so I brought it on myself.

"Can't. I've got practice," I mumbled. It was a cheap excuse, but a valid enough one to get me out of this, at least for now.

"That coach works you ladies too hard," Mom complained. "I ought to punch him in the face."

"I'll help you," Mitch volunteered, but I'm certain he would have regardless of provocation had he been under the influence enough. He was a miserable person when intoxicated.

"Are you playing any sports this year?" Mom asked him, refilling both his and Dad's tall glasses of orange juice.

"Just football." He took a sip. "I think I'm gonna finally be able to get my girl out to a game this year! Our schedules are always so difficult to coordinate but I've got my fingers crossed."

I had to wonder what game he was playing. He knew I hated football as much as he hated soccer. This whole thing was dumb and pathetic. I wasn't going to come crawling back to him because he was acting all nice for my parents.

His poison tasted like syrup.

I sat and ate reluctantly, then got dressed and left for school with Mitch in his fancy Mercedes. A Mercedes for goodness sake! He didn't need a nice car. Considering the fact he had wrecked the last couple, it was a mistake on the part of his parents to get him a new one.