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“You have to admit, it’s an ironic situation.” My glower doesn’t stop him from continuing to share his thoughts. “You can have any girl you want on campus with the exception of that one.” He spears a finger at the spot where Demi last stood.
Again...tell me something I don’t know.
“Plus, I can’t imagine Coach would be cool with you sniffing anywhere around her.”
Precisely the reason I haven’t made a move in her direction.
“Damn, but that girl is fine!” a freshman yells, interrupting our one-sided conversation.
“Yeah, I’d sure love to get my hands on that,” another bonehead chimes in from the other side of the wide space.
“When the hell did she grow up so nice?” Arron McKinley shouts.
Unable to listen to another word, I snap, “Shut the fuck up!” Silence descends. “That’s Coach’s daughter you’re talking about!”
Arron grins before holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “What? I’m just stating the obvious.” He glances around as if expecting the others to chime in and agree with him. Most are smart enough to keep their traps shut. “We’re all thinking the same thing.”
“Well, don’t,” I growl. “Have a little fucking respect.”
I’m about to lay into a couple of the younger guys when Coach opens the door to his office and hollers, “Michaels, see me before you leave.”
With one last glare around the room, I grab a T-shirt from inside my locker and yank it on. The blood rushes through my veins and pounds in my ears. I don’t like these guys looking in Demi’s direction, much less talking about her. The whole thing pisses me off. They better not let me hear them spouting off like that again, or I’ll be cracking some skulls together. I don’t care if we’re on the same team or not.
“Uh-oh, looks like someone caught wind of the little crush you got going on,” Brayden snickers like the asswipe he is.
I certainly hope not. Coach wouldn’t be pleased about my interest in his daughter.
Instead of responding to the taunt, I give him the finger. Brayden flashes me a grin before hauling the athletic shorts up his thighs and snapping the elastic band around his waist.
A knot of tension settles in the pit of my gut as I make the walk to the office. I hesitate outside the door for a moment before rapping my knuckles against the frosted glass and popping my head inside. “Hey Coach, you wanted to see me?”
Air gets trapped in my lungs as the older man glances up from the shit pile of paperwork on his metal desk. He waves me in, pointing to the chair on the opposite side of him. “Yeah, have a seat. This’ll only take a moment.”
Well, fuck.
Maybe Brayden was right, and Coach has finally figured me out. Since the very beginning, I’ve done my best to cover up my feelings when the three of us are together. I can’t imagine what Demi’s father would do if he discovered my dirty little secret. Probably boot my ass right off the team. He would stop inviting me over for Wednesday night dinners and letting me hang around like I’m part of the family. I don’t think I could stand that. It’s not only about my need to be close to Demi but because of Nick Richards. The man is like a father figure to me. More so than the sperm donor who spawned me.
“Yeah, Coach?” I slide tentatively onto the chair.
He glances up after studying the manilla folder in his hand. “Your statistics grade is slipping. I spoke with Professor Peters this afternoon, and you’re clinging to a C-.”
My shoulders loosen in relief. I should have realized that was the issue. Stats is a massive pain in my ass. I have no problem wrapping my head around most of my classes. That one, for whatever reason, evades me. All Professor P has to do is lecture about quantitative data, inferential statistics, and parameters, and I go a little lightheaded. It’s like he’s talking in a foreign tongue. If I could avoid the damn class altogether, I would gladly do so.
Unfortunately, it’s a requirement for my major. Some guys in my position might skip it and not bother to finish out their degree but I’ve come this far; I’m sure as shit not going to let a statistics class stand in the way of being the first in my family to graduate from college. I’ll need something solid to fall back on if the NFL doesn’t work out long-term.
I’m sure that Demi’s presence in the same section doesn’t help matters either. I have a difficult time concentrating on Professor Peters and his monotone lectures when she’s seated next to me. Especially when the scent of her floral shampoo teases my senses. It’s all I can do to stop myself from scooting closer and inhaling a giant lungful of her. If I weren’t so masochistic, I’d sit my ass elsewhere. But that isn’t going to happen.
