Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

LEMON

F or the last several days, I’ve done very little but pace my office when I’m inside. I can’t believe I’ve had Hansley’s dick in my mouth.

While I initially went through the whole what is wrong with me phase, I’m now just trying to figure out why I keep falling down that rabbit hole. And… also… when will it happen again?

I know myself. I’m not one to lie to myself and pretend that I’m a bigger person and can be professional and not touch this man again. Obviously , I want him. The fact he seems willing, if not eager, to participate means that I don’t actually have to convince myself to stay away from him.

But that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t stand him. He came here and ruined everything. It’s bullshit. I’m frustrated and still struggling to make the few thousand dollars in my budget multiply into twenty thousand.

The deans know I have expensive taste. My team is fucking good. So what if we don’t win championships? I stand by the fact that I’ve earned the privileges I have by sending so many students to the NFL. I bring in money. We’re one of the most sought after teams for football in the west. Probably in the country, though I didn’t do that research.

Why should my budget be cut just because they hire a washed up hockey player?!

Scowling, I turn toward the window and freeze. Speaking of hockey player… Hansley is sitting in the park with Zarek and Dean Quinlan Stommer. At first, I’m a little irritated that there’s a dean sitting with them, apparently talking and laughing all casually.

Then I remember that Stommer and Zarek have some home life they share. For a while, I tried to figure it out because it was perplexing, but you know what? I don’t even care.

I’m still irritated at seeing them sit together. Because Hansley’s laughing. Smiling. And he’s never turned that smile on me! I hate how gorgeous it is. I hate that he’s so selfish with it, only smiling at literally anyone other than me. I hate that I can’t hear what they’re saying.

I flip the locks on the window and then struggle to push it up while trying not to break a nail. When I can’t get it to budge, I glare at it. Stupid window hates me too.

A knock on the door has me spinning around.

“Fuck’s sake,” I mutter, running my hands down the front of my dress. “Why not just act like you’ve been sucking the hockey coach so the world knows?!”

Clearing my throat, I give one last glance out the window before taking my seat behind my desk. “Yes?”

The door opens and Peyton pops his head in. “We’re a little early for our meeting, but if you’re not busy…?”

I nod and gesture for them to come inside. My three favorite players walk into my office with poster boards, pads of paper, and other things that I can’t quite make out.

I’ve put them and a work study in charge of fundraisers. Not only would I not know where to start, I seriously have no interest. And I’m super irritated that we have to lower ourselves to do them to begin with. We have much more important things to do!

“Okay,” Eli starts as he sets a folder on my desk and slides it to me. “The school has a very full calendar this year, so we’ve worked around it, and I think we found some great times. I talked to Coach Denis and asked if he’d mind if we set up our first wave of sexy bake sales at the tournament next week, and he was supportive.”

“Why didn’t you ask Bardot?” I ask, already feeling irritated that he’s made my kids feel unwelcome.

“Because you don’t seem to like him and we didn’t want to upset you by approaching him,” Winston says, shrugging. “Denis seemed neutral, though.”

I internally wince. Wow! I’m kind of transparent, huh? I nod for them to continue.

“We’re going to spread out the bake sales throughout the year,” Eli continues, “focusing on or around other events but only ones that are prepaid for. You know, when tickets are bought ahead of time. That way, we’re not competing for money. We talked to Dean Stommer, and he’s happy to let us set up a booth at the fall festival coming up, which might serve a double purpose since a bunch of us signed up for the date auction, so we’ll be up there in little bathing suits.”

“You’re going to be at the festival this year, aren’t you, Coach?” Peyton asks.

“Of course,” I say. “I usually make an appearance.” By appearance, I mean I take a quick walk through and then leave. Honestly, what kinds of contributions do I have to offer from football??

Although, Alka always gives a signed soccer ball as a silent auction item. I suppose I could do that. Or maybe a jersey? People like jerseys.

“We thought we’d start the dog walking part after the season, which I know is a little late for this year, but there’s a local high school that’s offering the same service. Uh, more fully clothed. We think that the younger generation is going to garner more support and thought we’d just avoid competition.”

I’m instantly irritated that the stupid high school stole that idea from us. We could do it better. And we’re totally willing to let the goods show. To give everyone a nice view as we handle their dogs.

“Fine,” I grumble. “Car wash?”

“Between the tournament and the festival,” Peyton says. “I think we can get some local businesses to donate the soap and stuff. We’re still looking for a large parking lot that has water and power access.”

“What do we need power for?”

“We thought we’d offer inside washes too. Nothing huge—a quick vacuum and a wipe down, but we can charge more for it.”

“Good thinking,” I admit, nodding.

He smiles and I’m confident it’s flirty.

“We put together the flyers and stuff for your approval,” Winston says, nodding to the folder in front of me. “We also have a few ideas in there for the community fundraiser that we can invite the other teams to participate in.”

“Which are you leaning toward?” I ask.

“Well,” he starts, glancing at Eli. “Even though the timing isn’t going to benefit us this year, we thought a big bash at the end of the year that revolves around a potluck. Between all the teams and athletic staff, if everyone brings a single dish, that’s more than two hundred dishes. We think the teams should eat free, but we’d charge everyone else. Depending on how many people commit to bringing a dish, we could even open it up to the town. We’d set a minimum entrance fee of something reasonable, like $15 or something, but encourage donations for more.”

A part of me wants to argue that we won’t need the fundraising efforts next year because Hansley will be gone and therefore, we’ll get our budget back. However, I think that might be considered bad form, so I keep those thoughts to myself.

Instead, I nod.

“We have some time to work it out,” Eli says.

“Sounds good. You’ve done a lot of work when you shouldn’t have to. I appreciate it,” I tell them.

“We’ve been having fun with this,” Winston admits, shrugging. “It almost feels like taking a break from all the studying and workouts to do something creative and mindless.”

My poor, sweet boys. So brave of them to try to convince me they’re having fun. “Thank you, boys.”

With smiles, they get up and head for the door. Peyton lingers and I sit up.

“Peyton. Think you can open the window for me?” I ask, pointing to the one that’s being stubborn.

He beams and comes back into the office. I watch as he seemingly effortlessly lifts the window, and I give him a demure look when he turns to me. Pretty sure I loosened it for him. I tap my nails on the desk. “Thank you.”

“No problem, Coach,” he says and heads for the door. He pauses just inside with his hand on the handle. “It’s really kind of a bummer that staff can’t bid on the dates with athletes,” he admits, offering me a cheeky smile before leaving.

I roll my eyes but can’t keep the smile from my face. He’s a good kid. A fantastic football player.

Once I’m alone in my office, I get back to my feet and look out the window. Hansley’s gone. The picnic table they’d been at now has a handful of students.

Frowning, I go back to my desk and open my laptop. I watch absently as the email notifications pop up. I hate email. Worst invention ever. Thankfully, my inbox is now down to twenty-eight unread messages, which are just those that have accumulated since my work-study student left on Friday. She’ll be back later this afternoon.

Just as I’m turning away, one catches my attention.

HOCKEY TEAM RECEIVES ANOTHER CORPORATE SPONSOR—GO RDU HORNS!

Narrowing my eyes, I do something I haven’t done in years. I click on the email. Ew. I already feel gross. But my scowl picks up more when I read the contents of the email.

Congratulations, Horns, for your acquisition of another corporate sponsor—MTE Bank. We’re so proud of you!

As you know, our hockey team has geared up this year to reshape their presence at the school. With MTE’s very generous contribution, this brings the Horn’s new sponsors up to eleven! This one comes from defenseman Braxton Malls, who has been working with the bank in their efforts every winter to amass books to promote literacy in youth.

Thank you for your support, MTE Bank!

If you’d like to take a look at how our hockey team is building their presence in the community and on campus, check out their page on our website.

The Horns are also looking to redesign their logo! If you’re interested in participating and submitting your idea, click here.

I can’t help myself; I click the link to their webpage.

It’s filled with things. And sure enough, running along the top in a continuous stream are the logos of their sponsors.

The page is filled with pictures, stories, and event listings. I hate everything about it. It’s so cluttered and filled with crap. You have to scroll all the way to the bottom to even see the headshots of the coaches and the players!

Out of curiosity, I poke around until I find the football team’s page. There’s a stationary wallpaper of sponsors at the top, which I’m very happy to see that we have a whole bunch. Then there are the three players who were drafted last year to the NFL. Then comes our schedule. Below that are the headshots of me and my coaches, then our team.

I’m irritated that our page isn’t as… lively as hockey’s. Especially after I check out the other teams’ pages. The men’s soccer team and the field hockey teams have running galleries of their new sponsors too. All of their pages have stories about things happening with their team. Even if it has nothing to do with the sport.

More annoyingly, every last one of them has a list of their events. Not just their schedule, but an interactive calendar where you can click on events and learn more about them, including how to sign up.

I hate this.

Pushing from my desk, I grab my laptop and storm out of my office and down the hall until I come to the converted conference room where my team hangs out. My favorites are here as well as a few others.

They fall silent when I walk in. “Why aren’t our events on our webpage?” I ask, sitting my laptop on the table that they’re working at.

Eli leans across the table and taps on my computer. “I don’t know, Coach. I’ll see who we need to talk to.”

“While you’re at it, maybe see how we can make ours as… loud and annoying as the other teams’.”

Peyton chuckles.

“Sure, Coach,” Eli says.

“Please,” I add.

He grins. “No problem, Coach. Really. We’ve been talking about our page for a few days now.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Winston shrugs. “You’ve never cared about our webpage before. Usually you focus on things that take place in person. You’re a physical presence. As is the team. So I guess we never really thought about it until recently.”

“Until the other teams made theirs obnoxious?” I ask.

Eli laughs. “Yeah.”

“Speaking of other teams… I keep getting emails about corporate sponsors. What do you know?”

“The football team has always had the most,” Winston says. “I think they’ve come naturally because you do great things with us. The other teams have always had a few, but this year, Coach Hansley has made a movement to get the town involved more in our teams, so all the other players are hitting up local businesses for sponsorships.”

I’m feeling slightly smug that ours have always come organically. We haven’t had to lower ourselves to asking for them. But I have a feeling that I’m not lying when I claim I keep getting emails about corporate sponsors. I bet if I lowered myself to checking my emails, I’d see that there’s a bunch of emails wasting my time with other so-called accomplishments.

The thing is, the entire school knows I have the best team. We should be in emails. We should have the most emails!

“Let’s make some changes,” I declare. “Study the other pages and let’s come up with a way to make ours even better. We have a lot of players and I know you’re all doing great things. Not just in football. If they can be loud and annoying, so can we.”

“You mean loud and proud, right?” Winston asks with a grin.

“That’s what I said.” I wave my hand. “Of course, don’t take away from your schoolwork or football. Keep your priorities straight.”

“Of course, Coach,” Eli agrees. “We’ll get our page amazing! No problem at all.”

Feeling better, I leave them to do their thing. As I’m walking out, a few more of my players walk in with smiles and a chorus of “hey, Coach” on their way by.

I love my team. There’s no one else in the world that makes me as happy as they do. I love that they chose this little room as their spot to hang out. They have the entire campus, the whole town, and they choose to hang out here.

I’m proud of that.

I bet the other teams don’t have this.