Scoring The Coach ✔️

chapter eleven

Chapter Eleven

I liked the smooth transition from autumn to winter. The leaves had been stripped from their trees, now fading into orange and red hues on the ground by my sneakers. It was a season of change, both for me and the weather.

The air was colder and I could see my breath when I exhaled. The season was drawing to a close, which meant Championships were just on the rise. There was a little less than one month until the big day. Soon, I would be playing for dozens of scouts, praying to God one of them had my scholarship to Brown in his or her back pocket. Merely knowing they were interested wasn't enough.

We drove on the highway with the white noise of the engine and tires scraping against the asphalt in the background. The sky was grey—not entirely cloudy, but slowly getting there. I noticed the roaring of the wind every so often, wondering where he got the idea to go to the beach of all places. It was going to be cold, especially near the sea with lashing waves of icy water, but I didn't really care where we were going.

I was fine with this. Him.

I wasn't thinking about anything school-related. My backpack full of books sat abandoned in the back of the car as I focused on the weight of his hand against mine. I knew there was that awkward film of sweat beading on our skin from our fingers being intertwined so long, but I didn't care about it, and I don't think he did either.

When he pulled over to a gas station seemingly in the middle of nowhere, I couldn't hide my curiosity.

"I want to grab some stuff before we keep driving," he said, glancing over at the clock on the dashboard. "When do you need to be home?"

I knew my dad was back from his shift already, having worked the graveyard for twelve hours, and that he was passed out in bed for the rest of the night. I knew that Mom was leaving for a night shift of her own, probably to do inventory, and wouldn't notice I was gone. I was eighteen after all, so they trusted me to return at a reasonable hour.

"Whenever, I guess," I stated, reaching for the handle on the passenger door. "I'm an adult now. They trust me."

"I think we should stay out all night and paint the town red."

I shook my head. "I have homework."

"It can wait," he insisted, gently nudging me with his shoulder. "Let's go get some sodas."

I hopped out with hesitant feet, laughing as he slid across the hood of his car like this was a bad spy movie. He raised his fingers to his mouth in the shape of a gun, blowing across the tops of them theatrically.

"007 has nothing on me," he said.

"Are you always this goofy?"

"Only around you, I'm afraid." He slid a finger around the back belt loop of my jeans. I immediately turned to look at him, a question in my eyes. It wasn't a face of disgust or the will to recoil. It was a face of why? Whenever Mitch had touched me, I always shrugged him off, but I didn't feel uncomfortable like I had then. Not with Jared.

He leaned forward, lips brushing my ear. "I like being close to you, and I can't quite decide where to touch you to make that face of yours all pink and flustered."

My throat filled with fire and his words excited me more than I cared to admit.

He kissed my earlobe, gently nibbling before pulling away from me.

"This is the moment of truth." He gestured toward the massive display of sodas. "Please tell me you're not a Pepsi girl. That's inexcusable."

I reached for a cherry Coke. "Relax, I'm not into such blasphemy."