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“I know it must be confusing for you, getting older and probably out of practice with these things, but that wasn’t flirting. Believe me,” I say, my tone dripping with venomous honey before jumping into the water.
I kick out, swimming on my back as I look up to the man watching me from above. His lips are slightly curled, and his eyes burn with a predatory gleam that makes my heart skip a beat. I turn away like a coward as I hurry to the center where some girls are waiting. Whether or not I imagined that look, it still sears me. I hadn’t been flirting, but I knew the guy was interested in more than friendly chatter. The brief interaction with Fallon has affected me,turning me on, more than anything else. It is dangerous to have a crush on my coach, but I’m not sure I can continue to ignore it.
Coughing up the water I accidentally swallowed, I spin the ball out of reach and throw up my other hand, barely hearing the foul whistle before my head dunks under the surface. The guy that was pressing against me backs away and I pop back up, spitting the water towards his face. He grins, not apologizing in the slightest. I narrow my eyes, getting fed up with how overly aggressive he’s being for a scrimmage. But if he wants to play, then let’s play.
I pump the ball in the air, pretending like I’m going to shoot it before passing to Beth on the side. He’s immediately back in my space the second the ball is moved, pressing closer than he needs to when there’s nothing to defend. I spin and give him my back, suppressing a shudder when I feel the scratches of his chest hair against my skin. Rolling my shoulder in warning to back off, he ignores me and my temper flares again.
Beth passes the ball to Anna who is glancing at me as I tap the water in front of me. Her eyebrows knit in confusion before she trusts me and tosses it over. I pretend like I’m going to lunge forward for it, but throw my elbow back as hard as I can. Searing pain tears through me and the disgusting crack of bone tells me I fucked up more than I intended.
There’s a ton of commotion as the guy behind me howls in pain and I clutch my elbow, letting my face dunk under the water to hide my tears. Rough hands pull me up and I blink to stare at those haunting greens. His eyes roam over my face, and I stare back. The pain is making me dizzy but I’m struggling to believe Fallon jumped in.
“Can you swim?”
I nod, and he lets go of me.
“Alright, clear the way. Let Peters and Durham get out of the pool. Everyone take a few minutes to cool down.”
I cradle my elbow to my chest as I swim to the ladder, pulling myself out one handed. I can tell it isn’t broken or sprained, but something really hurts. A presence behind me tells me that Fallon has followed me up, his hand slipping to the small of my back as he leads me to the small room on the pool deck with the equipment and medical kit.
The men’s coach comes up to us. “I’m going to take him to the trainer. I think his nose is broken.”
Fallon nods. “We might be right behind you. I’m going to check it first.”
When I pull my hand away from my elbow, I gasp at the blood still soaking my fingers and I try to turn to look. Fallon grips my bicep, pulling me into the small room and into a chair as he moves to the side.
“Can you bend it normally?”
Pulling my fist toward my chest, I flex my hand back out and nod. “Yeah, something just aches on the back of my arm. Not really my elbow.”
His fingers gently cradle my arm, lifting it like he’s examining a baby bird’s wing before wiping it gently with a towel.
“I think his teeth got you.”
“Like he bit me?!”
Fallon throws me an exasperated look. “It was probably a reflex of getting hit. Don’t worry, he didn’t take a chunk out.”
I wasn’t worried about that until he mentioned it, and now I pale. “Do I need stitches?”
He shakes his head, his damp hair shaking droplets everywhere. “No, some skin glue should do. Let me just clean it and you’re done with the water today.”
He stands. I try to look away from the way his t-shirt and shorts are clinging to his body like a second skin. The abs of his stomach are clearly visible, and my ears burn under my cap when he turns and I’m eye level with the bulge between his legs. Fallon grabs the plastic container on the small desk, then reaches into a bag on the floor and holds his hand out. I stare warily at the tiny yellow ball wrapped in plastic.
“What is that?”
“You never had a Lemonhead?”
I frown. “No… Who would willingly consume something sour?”
Fallon chuckles and shrugs. “It’s an acquired taste. My favorite candy. I figured it would bring your attention to something other than the burn of the glue.”
Shamefully, I grab it from his hand because of the simple fact he said it was his favorite, but he doesn’t need to know that. He moves behind me, twisting my arm into a position so it’s easier for him to access my injury. Opening the candy, I shove it in my mouth and then immediately spit it out into my hand.
“Aghk! That’s fucking nasty,” I say.
He chuckles, his breath fanning over my shoulder. I suppress the shudder and take in the small room we’re sitting in. It is littered with equipment and trophies from past teams. There is something sad about seeing them, a reminder that time is so fleeting and then suddenly you’re moving on to be replaced by the next set of players.
When he pours peroxide onto my cut, I wince and then suck the candy back into my mouth. At least if I’m trying not to die by bitter lemon, I can’t focus on the gentle hold of his fingers as he takes care of my wound.
