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“Sinclair!” he bellowed so loud I pulled the phone away from my ear and winced.
Max lifted an eyebrow and sat up in the rumpled blankets. My throat still burned from how thoroughly he’d used me, skin tight from all the dried cum.
“Why didn’t you tell me what happened!” Coach demanded.
“It was late when we got in from the hospital. I figured I’d tell you this morning.” I paused. “Wait. You know what happened at the diner last night?”
“Of course I know. You boys must think I’m a moron!” he hollered.
I winced. “We don’t think that, Coach.”
Max snickered.
“I heard that!”
I scowled and shushed Max. Now I was going to have to swim extra laps. “I can just fill you in when I get there.”
“Get here? You can’t possibly think you’re swimming today.”
I stilled, the grip I had on my phone growing tighter. “Well, yeah. You mean… I can’t come swim?”
Oh my God, what did Rinkin tell him? Did the cops tell him something? Am I off the team?I reached out blindly, but Max was there, sliding me backward and into his lap.
“Hell no, you aren’t swimming! You were drugged. That’s not protocol.”
I let out a little squeak. “So I’m not off the team?”
“Off the team?” Coach echoed. “Why would I throw you off the team? You were the one that was wronged.”
“Well, I—”
“Well nothing.” He cut me off. “You aren’t coming to practice until the drug is out of your system.”
“It is—” I started.
“It hasn’t been twelve hours.”
“Twelve hours?” I echoed.
“Again, I am not a moron. I know how long it takes to get that shit out of your system. I said twelve hours. You can come back tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.”
“So don’t be showing up this morning ‘cause I’ll kick you out and embarrass you.”
I glanced at Max. He smiled.
“Yes, Coach.”
He made a gruff sound. “Good.”
I sat there, not sure if I should hang up or what.
“Sinclair!”
“Yes?”
“You okay, son?”
