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Jack’s low baritone voice suddenly sounded in my ear, sending me jumping. “You’re supposed to drop the goods and then get out of there, Sprinkles.”
The coach neared me, seemingly in response to my jump. “Everything okay?” He furrowed his brows.
I made my big eyes go wide. “Everything is fine, just thought I got a paper cut!” I briefly showed him my finger before he could look too closely.
I totally forgot that Jack was there, listening to the whole conversation. I wouldn’t make that mistake twice.
“Smooth. Now get the hell out of there,” said Jack, clearly exasperated.
His voice—even exasperated—warmed me like a sip of whiskey. But I needed to shelve that feeling for another time and focus.
“Maybe I could rinse my finger off in the bathroom. Do you have any bandages I could use?” I turned to Coach Ramstrom, my left hand wrapped around my right index finger.
“Why don’t you just rinse it in the sink right here?” He pointed to the kitchen sink, which stood not three feet behind me.
I gave an embarrassed laugh. “Good point, except I actually need to use the restroom too. You know, woman stuff.” I made a vague hand gesture around my lower half, and it took everything in me not to laugh from the look of discomfort crossing his face. Guys hated talking about periods. I reveled in his discomfort.
Jack decided now would be a good time to chime in. “Oh man, I wish I could see his face right now. Hell, I canhearhow uncomfortable you made him. Good job, Whit.”
A smile pulled at the corners of my lips, but I suppressed it.
Coach rubbed the back of his neck. “Um, sure. It’s this way.”
He showed me to the bathroom, which sat just off the kitchen. I gave a little wave as I closed the door in his face.
Once closed, I engaged the lock immediately, not completely comfortable in the man’s presence.
I tried gathering my thoughts when Jack’s voice sounded. “You should pretend to go to the bathroom.”
I glared at my reflection in the mirror, imagining it was Jack. “Har, har.”
There were a lot of little cupboards in the room, including the vanity mirror, which I opened, rifling through the basic products in there. Basic first aid supplies, including bandages, so I grabbed one and put it over the nonexistent cut on my finger.
After leafing through everything in that cupboard I moved onto the small linen cabinet that went from ceiling to floor. The skinny shelves housed nothing more than towels and cleaning supplies. Finally, I checked underneath the sink itself, only to come up with a few extra rolls of toilet paper.
“Damn.”
Jack sighed. “No luck, I’m guessing.”
“None.”
I could practically hear Jack thinking on the other side of the line. “That’s fine. He would have been an idiot to place something like that out in the open, especially in the guest bathroom.”
I pinched my eyes closed, knowing where he was going with this. “You need me to go into his primary bathroom?”
I could hear Jack running his hands through his stubble. “That’s our best bet,” Jack warred with himself. “But that doesn’t matter. You need to get out of that house and not raise any suspicions.”
I clasped my hands together in a prayer motion. “But if I were to get into his master bathroom, how exactly would you propose I do that?”
“First of all, you should probably keep your voice down, it’s going to be really awkward if Coach overhears you talking to yourself.”
I flushed with embarrassment, grateful that Jack could only hear me and not see me.
“You should wash your hands and get back out there. He’s going to wonder what’s taking so long.”
Turning on the faucet, I quickly did as I was told. Checking my lipstick and pushing down any fly aways before opening the door to the bathroom.
I turned the corner to find Coach talking to a few players in hushed tones. Suspicion roiled through me as I approached, trying to not to interrupt the conversation, I stalled a few feet away hoping to catch what they were saying.
