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Better for meandChase.
"Maybe if you focused more your team will be better off," Luke adds.
My rage spikes. “My team would be better off if your team would play fair. Ifyouwould play fair." I amend the last part because I can’t blame his team for it. They're only kids.
It's Luke who’s to blame.
“I always play fair,’ he says, and I notice he’s closer than I would like. I try to take a step back, but then my feet trip over some stray gear laying in the middle of the floor.
I yelp a little, but Luke catches me in time, bringing me close to his chest.
"Easy there," he murmurs, and his voice does unspeakable things to my insides, running right to my pussy.
Why on earth am I still attracted to this asshole?
My heart races from his proximity. He’s so close. His eyes run down my face, pausing at my lips. They darken.
Lust pulses through me. I should put a stop to this, push him away but I can't.
“He's dating other people,” Luke tells me.
“Who?” I answered dumbly.
“The moron you were talking to,” he says. “I just thought you should know.”
And then he’s gone.
2
LUKE
The final whistlesounds and there’s a lot of elation.
At least on my side of the court. The parents are all excited about the win and the boys doubly so. They drop their hockey sticks and run for me, ecstatic sounds falling from their mouth as they all try to hug me at the same time.
“Alright, alright, settle down,” I say loud enough to be heard over their chatter. “Hey, no shoving. And you all smell worse than sweaty pigs, by the way."
They all giggle rather than take offense. They chorus, “Thank you, Coach Hardy!”
“Luke,” I correct. “Coach Hardy was my dad.”
But I don’t think they hear me much with the rush of sounds and pre-pubescent chatter. I smile at their excitement. Before I took over the team, I was told that they were one of the worst in the district. They were coached by another parent who was all about team sports and giving every damn person a participation trophy. Plus, they had horrible gear.
But in less than a year, everything has pretty much turned around. I guess by winning this game, they're now the favorite to win the championship.
And even though a little league hockey championship isn't much in the grand scheme of things, I can't help but be happy for them and pleased that I helped them achieve this.
Plus, a little guilty because I didn’t intend to make them the best team in the district. Initially, I didn't even care about making them all that good. I became a coach for the team for one reason and one reason only.
I glance up to see my son, Mikey, trailing behind the rest of the kids. He stops a little before the throng and even though his expression doesn’t change much, I can tell he’s not sure what to do next. He wants to approach me, but he doesn’t like crowds especially squealing messy crowds like the children currently crawling all over me.
He holds his hockey stick in one hand and scratches his ear with another. Even though I'm looking right at him, he doesn’t make eye contact, instead focusing his gaze somewhere just beyond my shoulder. But I know by the slight curl of his lip that he wants to talk to me.
“Alright, break it up,” I say, clapping my hands loudly enough so that the kids rear back and cover their ears. “Go see your parents. I’m pretty sure they’ll appreciate your sweaty hugs a lot more than I do.”
“See you later Coach Hardy!" A couple of them call out as they run for the bleachers.
“Luke,” I correct offhandedly approaching my son. I squat down a little, but he still doesn’t look into my eyes when I ask, “You doing okay, Buddy?"
