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“Can we not talk about my dick right now?”
“God, you’ve got quite the dirty mind, Coach Morgan. I was talking about your heart.”
I don’t have time to retort. Even if I did, I don’t think I’d want to entertain this conversation and where I know it’s going. It’s a blessing in disguise, really, that we’re disrupted by a sudden outburst.
Blessingin the loosest sense of the word.
Half-turning towards the noise, I groan at the approaching onslaught of women. When one veers away from the group and makes a beeline for us, I stifle another. Luna, however, makes no such effort, loud and proud in her blatant dislike. “Behave,” I warn but my heart isn’t in it.
Even if Luna didn’t hate Mrs. Wainwright—their relationship was doomed the moment the latter implied Luna being a working mom was a detriment to her children, and that Jackson being a stay-at-home dad wasemasculating—I wouldn’t like her. The first time she sneakily pocketed her wedding ring so she could flirt with me, I didn’t like her. Every time I hear her picking on other parents and kids like she’s some kind of all-knowing leader, I like her even less. I fucking dread practice only because she always find some reason to talk to me, and today is no exception.
Fingers creeping along my bicep provide a split second warning before a purr makes my skin crawl. “Good morning, Coach Morgan.”
Years of media training grant me the strength to hit her with a polite smile, and to not laugh when Luna mumbles something about being chopped liver beneath her breath. “Morning.”
When I roll my shoulders to subtly displace her grip, Mrs. Wainwright barely manages to hide her pout. “I hope your shoulder isn’t bothering you.”
My healing limb tenses instinctively, twinging with phantom pain. “Nope.”
“I’m a licensed masseuse, y’know. I could totally help.”
Luna snorts. “Bet she wouldn’t charge you extra for a happy ending.”
I discreetly backhand the side of her thigh. “That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Wainwright.”
“Please, call me Kristal.” She titters an obnoxious noise. “I wanted to ask you about private coaching for my son.”
“I don’t do private coaching.”
“And even if he did—”
“Luna.” Only my preserving grasp on professionalism stops me from clamping a hand over my friend’s mouth and physically shutting her up. “I’m sorry,” I address Mrs. Wainwright. “Maybe Coach Smith can help you. I’m sure he’d be happy to discuss it after practice.” And I’m even more sure he’ll turn her down as promptly as I did, but I decide not to mention that.
To her credit, at least Luna waits until her arch nemesis has reluctantly retreated to her friends before hissing an insult. “Witch.”
As I watch Mrs. Wainwright and her friends resume their chatter, I give Luna’s long ponytail a tug. “Why do you provoke her like that?”
Completely unashamed and even more unsurprising, Luna shrugs. “I’m hoping if I push hard enough, she’ll lose it and punch me in the face or something. Then you’ll have to kick her off the team.”
All I can do is sigh. There’s no point reprimanding her; Luna is admonishment-proof, and her vendetta’s have a long shelf-life. “Can you at leasttryto behave?”
“Can you?” A pointy elbow bruises my side. “You’re scaring off my new friend.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Neither is she.” With a pointed sideways look, she adds, “Neitherdidshe.”
“She tell you that?”
“Nope. We don’t talk about you.”
I slide Luna a frown. “Ever?”
“Not since the first time we spoke, and I’m the one who brought you up.” Pure mockery furrows a pale brow, has a full pair of lips pouting. “What, you think she’s constantly digging for juicy gossip?”
Well, I wouldn’t exactly be surprised.
Luna sighs a long, drawn-out, dramatic noise as she stares wistfully into the distance. “I think I’m gonna make it a family holiday.”
