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“You’re not driving yourself home. I’m giving you a ride,” he commands.
His arm is still tightly wrapped around my middle, steadying me.I’m speechless.I don’t know if it’s because he said he’s driving me home or because my body is pressed up against his. If it wasn't for our clothing, we would be skin to skin with how close we are. I can feel his body heat radiating through the thin material of our t-shirts.God, he smells so good. Like a perfect mixture of citrus and cedar.
As if he can hear what I’m thinking, he clears his throat and nods his head towards the exit.
“I refuse to go anywhere with you,” I seethe. “What about my car? Maisie can give me a ride if it’s that big of a deal.”
“I have your keys. Maisie will give you a ride to practice tomorrow; I already sent her home. You’ll survive one day without your Benz,” he mocks.
“Oh, screw you,” I respond. “Where’s my phone? I’m calling Maisie or Colin to come pick me up.”
“Colin? Who’sColin?” he immediately asks without hesitation. Wait, I know that look – I refuse, flat outrefuse, to believe it’s jealousy.
“None of your damn business. Give me my phone before I…”
“Goddammit, Phoebe!” he cuts me off, quickly slipping his other arm beneath my knees and picking me up, cradling me in his arms. “You’re coming with me, whether you like it or not. If you want to act like a child, then I’ll treat you like one,” he adds as he carries me towards the parking lot.
Who does he think he is?I can’t believe mycoachis manhandling me right now. In what world does he think this is okay?
“What thehellare you doing? Put me down! People are going to think you’re a damn creep,” I shout, slapping at his chest.
“You just passed out cold on the pavement. Everyone in this building saw me rush you inside, so I have an excuse,” he replies. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be. I’m just giving you a ride home, for Christ's sake.”
Rush me in? Did he carry me while I was unconscious?
He stops us in front of a black Jeep Wrangler, opens the passenger door, and deposits me roughly into the front seat. He reaches across and buckles my seatbelt, securing me in place.
“Here’s your phone,” he says, tossing it in my lap once he’s made his way around to the driver's seat.
“How do you know where I live?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“I’m your coach. I have access to every player's contact information in case of an emergency.”
Just as I’m about to respond with a snarky comment, my phone rings. I see the name “Mom” flash across the screen and honestly, I’d rather talk to her than sit in silence withhim.Before I have a chance to say hello, my mom is jabbering away as soon as I pick up the call.
“Phoebe, darling! I’m at a work event and only have a few minutes. How are you doing? Have you started class yet?” I love how she’s already rushing me off the call, even thoughshe’sthe one who calledme.
“I’m doing fine,” I Iie. “Classes started a couple days ago. I think ‘Rhetorical Studies’ is going to be my favorite class this semester,” I add, trying to start a conversation with her.
“And how’s softball?” she asks, completely ignoring my comment about class.
“It’s good. Maisie, one of my teammates is…”
She interrupts me before I can get anything else out. “I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to run. One last thing, how’s your diet? The freshman fifteen is very real, Phoebe. You have to watch what you eat.”
Coach Moore’s head snaps to me, as if he can hear the conversation through the phone. He looks furious, like he wants to throw my phone through the window. I’m sure he can hear everything with how loud my mom’s speaking. She’s practically yelling against the background noise of whatever gala she’s attending tonight.
“It’s under control,” I reply, sounding defeated. I have nothing else to say to her.
“Good to hear. Your father is waiting, but it was nice to speak with you. Have a good evening,” she says before ending the call.
I just stare out the window for a few minutes, not saying a word, before Coach finally breaks the silence.
“Who the hell was that?” he asks in a hushed voice, as if he needed a few minutes to collect himself before speaking.
“It was my lovely mother. Don’t act like you didn’t hear every word she said,” I snap.
“Well, you can tell yourmotherthat I’m taking you to get a greasy burger and fries right now. Hell, I’ll even throw in a soda if you want.” He gives me a sympathetic look, trying to lighten the mood. His expression softens when he makes eye contact with me.
