Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

Windy

I don't know why I'm so tongue-tied about letting Coach McCree into my room. It's not like I'm a messy person who leaves piles of food wrappers or dirty laundry all over. I'm not sure even that would be reason enough to be embarrassed for Coach McCree to see my room. He probably wouldn't care even if I was a .

I care though. For whatever reason, there's a whole herd of elephants wrestling alligators in my tummy just thinking about disappointing Coach McCree. And he will be disappointed once he comes in my room and sees all the things the space says about me. It's all so pointless, the impossible crush I've developed on this sexy, older man. I can barely hope for a small chance I could ever get him to look at me like I'm anything but an immature, ditzy klutz who can't manage to attend a party without accidentally getting drunk or run laps on an oval track without falling down.

Once he opens the door and sees my dorm, it'll burn into his brain how much younger I am. And not just in chronological age. Beyond being awkward around other people, I'm what my big sisters call ‘attitudinally immature'. Things that most twenty-one-year-old women care about seem silly to me, and the things I like are considered childish by most of the people my age. Why should I care about what color purses are in fashion this season when Lego releases new builds almost weekly?

"Still waiting for the rest of that ‘and', little lush." My cheeks feel hot every time he calls me that, especially now that I know he says it to tease me.

"Just, I mean, I really don't—" The way my words jumble and tumble isn't going to do me any favors in contradicting what he's about to see. Eventually, I simply shrug my shoulders against his chest and push the door open. A picture's worth a thousand words anyway, right?

Coach McCree carries me over to the narrow twin bed and sets me down on the Thor bedspread without comment. A gentle nudge is all it takes to have me toppling back against the stack of pillows, though he grabs the round one shaped like Captain America's shield and wedges it under my knees to elevate the sore joints. Everything in my room is decorated with collectibles and toys from my favorite superhero universe.

There's a half-built replica of Starlord's ship that I've been working on while I study, taking up nearly all of the carrel-style study desk in one corner. Coach McCree has to carefully step over the stack of textbooks on the floor between the desk and the sink that's separate from the tiny water closet that only has enough room for a toilet and stand-up shower. If I were a regular college senior, that stack of books would be on the desk.

I wait for his comment, sure he's thinking the same ‘she's so childish' thoughts everyone else seems to have when they get a look at my space.

It's fine, I tell myself. Nothing I'm not used to already. In fact, I'm so used to people judging my interests that I rarely bring anyone here at all. Taryn being the exception, of course. My bestie always hums when I wring my hands or get embarrassed about liking toys and says it's impolite to yuck yums.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, babydoll. I think I understand now." Coach McCree doesn't say anything about the character-printed water bottle or the stickers all over my mini fridge. He doesn't even get that pinched look I'm used to seeing when people realize I'm different. The one that says they're judging me silently but holding back their negative comments because ‘it's polite'.

"You do?" The words pop out before I can shush myself.

"I think so, little lush. You were worried I'd see your hobbies and interests and be demeaning about them. Weren't you?" Coach McCree is so blunt, but it doesn't feel mean-spirited.

I think having a man like Coach McCree to spend time with would mean I didn't have to guess at what he was thinking or wanting. He just says what's on his mind and what he expects from me. I relax onto my comfortable bedding and let him move around my room, gathering a towel to wrap the ice packs he pulls from my freezer and snagging my giant stainless-steel water bottle to bring to me.

"Was that what had you worried, Windy? That I'd see your toys and think less of you?" He sits down on the edge of the bed and sets the towel-wrapped ice over each of my knees. Then he leans over me to grab one of my stuffed animals from the pile against the wall. He holds up Nightmare, my black cat stuffy that's wearing a batgirl costume and wiggles her so her arms, legs, and tail dance around in the air.

Coach McCree laughs at my grabby-hand motions and dangles Nightmare just out of reach. His smile reaches clear into his eyes. I realize even though I've seen him smiling in interviews about the football team plenty of times, it's nothing like this. My heart races and parts of my body that definitely shouldn't be perking up considering how much pain I'm in are definitely missing the owies memo. Coach McCree chimes every bell I've got. And now that I see he isn't making fun of me for being immature, those flutters in my chest are turning into full internal tornadoes.

"Most everybody thinks I'm too childish for being twenty-one. Even my family says I should find less silly ways to spend my time when I'm not studying or with the team."

I love my family, and I'm really lucky to have so many people who love me. But yeah, it sucks how they don't have a problem constantly reminding me that I'm the baby, but then they expect me to act all boring and adulty all the time. I do plenty of adult things and I don't think it's unreasonable to want to enjoy the things that make me happy the rest of the time.

"Babydoll, being silly and playing with toys is the best way to spend time for all of us. I mean, look at me. I'm a grown man who made his living playing a game for years. Now I get paid to yell at other grown men to do the same thing. How silly is that?" His fingers sneak out like darts to tickle at my sides until I'm a wiggling, giggling mess.

"C-Coach McCree, stop! Stop or I'm gonna pee!" The threat's only half a lie. My older brother Nash can attest, if I'm tickled too much, I absolutely will pee.

"You should call me Deke, little lush. For now, anyway." Those perky parts are really awake now that Coach McCree wants me to call him by his first name. It's so intimate and special. There's a part of me that likes thinking of him as Coach McCree, though. Like it's a dirty secret that he's here in my dorm alone with me, sitting on my bed and telling me to call him Deke.

I bite my lip so the thought doesn't sneak out. There's probably only so much strange the man can take at once. No sense crossing the veil and becoming too weird to deal with.