A giggle bursts free from her as I pinch the bridge of my nose, pain erupting in my face. My other hand flails for the tiles, desperate to balance myself, all while Shay continues to laugh behind me. At least she’s getting some enjoyment out of this.
“You ran straight into the wall.” She cackles, and even through the pain, I can’t help but smirk at the pure joy in her voice. “You’re so stupid.”
“Hey!” I scold her, looking back over my shoulder with a playful stare, blinking rapidly to clear my pained vision. “Be nice to the wounded.”
Her smile steals the air from my lungs. For a split second, I forget where we are entirely, and instead, I can only imagine our future. She’s laughing while our kids play in the backyard. Me somehow finding ways to pretend to get hurt, only to elicit those cherished sounds all over again.
How can I not imagine a life with her when the sight of her joy sends me headfirst into a wall? Maybe I’m just tired of hiding behind the reasons why we shouldn’t. Or maybe it’s my new concussion. Regardless, the conversation isn’t happening while we’re butt-ass naked in the Nighthawks’ showers.
Turning back, I gently guide myself around the wall and back out of the walkway, grabbing a towel from the rack as I go. I might not have gotten in the water, but I’m a thousand degrees and sweating profusely after that interaction.
My heart is thumping in my chest, my pulse racing so hard that I can feel it in my neck without so much as touching it. Can you imagine how I’m going to react if she ever actually touches me? I don’t think I’ll survive.
Dropping down onto the bench, I close my eyes and catch my breath for a second, desperate to ground myself in any way. I flatten my hands on the surface beside my legs, taking a few calm inhales and exhales until I feel a sliver of normalcy.
Then, without skipping a beat, I hastily get dressed and shove my wallet, keys, and phone into my pocket, rushing out of the locker room to give her as much privacy as she needs.
We obviously still need to talk about all of this, but we can do it out here, in a neutral territory, where the vision of her naked is less likely to control my every thought. I pace in the hallway, barely holding it together as I wait for her to exit.
Whatever I told myself about that image not consuming me, it was a lie—the biggest lie I’ve ever told—because I can’t stop replaying it in my mind, over and over again. It’s consuming my soul.
The door pushes open, squeaking and pulling my full attention up from my feet as I slam to a halt.
“Hi.”
Great. I sound like a nervous schoolboy who’s talking to the first girl he’s ever met.
Oh my God, Matt, get it together.
“Hi.” Her lips twitch with amusement, but she pushes it away and flattens her smile. “Goodbye.”
Spinning on her heel, she takes a large stride, walking quickly away from me.
My legs are already moving, chasing after her. “Shay, wait.”
“For what?” she asks without turning around or slowing in the slightest.
I scoff, “Well, I think you know forwhat.”
Shaking her head, she continues to live in denial. “Nope. We aren’t talking about it.”
I catch up to her stride, falling into place beside her. “I definitely think we should talk about it.”
“I disagree,” she sings, turning toward the elevator.
Gently, I grab her arm and swing around in front of her, stopping her in her path. “Shay.”
She sticks her nose up slightly, a distance in her stare. “It’s Coach Rooney to you.”
Wetting my lips, I try to refrain from biting down. “Yes, ma’am. You’re in charge.”
Her nose and lips wiggle ever so slightly. Even her body is unable to resist the pull to me as much as her mind may fight it.
“I’m going home. You’re going home. We are not discussing this. End of”—I smirk, and her nostrils flare—“discussion.”
Begrudgingly, I step back, out of her pathway, and let her through. “Good night, Coach.”
With one last quick glance out of the corner of her eye, she strides off without another word, only turning back to face me when she’s secured in the elevator, meeting my eye, that same distant longing in her gaze.
