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“We have class too,” Zeke shrugs, yawning.
“Do you expect us to go in there with her? Like, take her classes too?” Trevor asks.
He would, I’m sure. He’s probably wishing that I say yes.
“No, just drop her off and then go do whatever you have to do. There are three of you. I know you can make it work.”
“We can make it work,” Diego says with a heavy sigh.
“You actually… Why don’t you try to figure out who’s doing this?”
He raises his eyebrows. Even in the morning, he looks perfect. I think he plucks his eyebrows, though. Sometimes I find the little hairs in the sink. Not like a crazy amount, just a little attention to detail. And I know for sure he manscapes his pubes.
“Yeah, I can look into that,” he agrees.
“Okay, great!” I announce, clapping my hands together. “I’ll see you guys later. Text me if you need an assist.”
Leaving the building, I start to feel a little bit optimistic. I know that it is handled. My team will work it all out.
And I know that Lindy is in for a treat. The four of us may seem like a little bit too much to take, but what woman doesn’t want endless attention? One guy might get boring, but the four of us know how to mix it up.
The Fieldhouse is one of the oldest buildings on campus, a stone structure at one end of the football field. Long and low, it was a settler’s cottage, back before this was even a college. The football field was forest, and then hand-tilled farmland. Sometimes you can kind of see the ghosts of what the land used to be.
They keep talking about tearing this building down, but I hope they won’t. Not while I am here, anyway. It would be a real shame.
Coach Hillby’s office is the back half of the building. It looks almost like a hunting lodge in here, with open timbers and exposed stone walls. He did have an air-conditioning unit fitted into one of the small windows next to the fireplace. The rest is trophy cases, masculine, overstuffed leather chairs, and a few mounted elk heads on the wall.
A veritable palace of testosterone.
I knock on the door, then let myself in, stopping up short when I realize we are not alone.
Dean Rhodes cuts off in mid-laugh, her hand fluttering up to the pit of her throat. She is leaning across the corner of Coach’s desk, her long legs crossed, her feet dangling in her expensive high heels. She’s wearing a fuchsia scarf wrapped around her shoulders and a felt hat with a long a feather in it. She sort of looks like Robin Hood, if Robin Hood were an art teacher.
Clearing her throat, she sits up at a more proper angle, something a little bit more close to vertical. Rather than looking more innocent, it only reminds me how close she was to lying down across the surface of the desk.
“Coach Hillby?” I inquire, letting the words just hang in the air.
He stands up, hiking his athletic pants up under his pronounced belly. I can vaguely make out the line of the athletic cup he always wears, which seems a little ridiculous. He doesn’t play football. I guess he does want to protect his old nuts from some freshmen throwing the ball into the sidelines. But it isn’t like we are going to tap him in to play defense or anything.
“Glad you stopped by,” Hillby smiles. “You know Dean Rhodes?”
“I do,” I confirm with a smirk.
Obviously they were in the middle of something fierce. I sort of feel like I should moonwalk out of the room and let them continue.
“Well, I just wanted to give you a quick update,” I hurriedly ad-lib. “We got into the elective, courtesy of Dean Rhodes here, and we are doing it! Going well!”
“Glad to hear it!” Hillby answers loudly, as though calling out a football play.
“Okay, so, I’ll see you at practice!”
“Outstanding!” Hillby barks, the Marine still plain in his voice.
He smiles at Dean Rhodes, then even gives her a little wink, as though they are conspirators in some big plan.
But they aren’t looking at me anymore. Dean Rhodes has crossed her legs in the opposite direction and started biting her lower lip. Seriously?
I can’t get out of there fast enough.
