Chapter 2 #2
Since my transfer was somewhat last minute, I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Coach McCoy face-to-face, but his reputation precedes him.
My coach back in Nebraska said he’s hard to impress, but fair.
Jay and Aaron warned me about some of his quirks.
Namely, that he’s very loud all the time, is prone to shouting abruptly, and often tosses out off-the-cuff remarks that come across as blunt or even inappropriate.
They appear to be amused rather than irritated or frightened at all, which seems like a good sign.
We all take our seats quickly, Aaron startling so hard he almost sits on my lap, as Coach launches into his welcome speech.
“First things first—”
Coach pauses and stares at someone in the front row who is still standing.
I’m watching the way Coach McCoy reacts to one of his students disobeying him, not turning my head until someone else stands to pull the other guy down.
A few people snicker, and the two guys sit down together.
All I see of the guys are their backs and the tops of their heads once they sit down.
Finally, we all turn our attention back to McCoy.
“Anyway,” Coach says, as if trying to remember what he was talking about. “Rules!” he shouts loudly and abruptly enough that I would have flinched if not for Jay and Aaron’s warnings.
“Listen up, because I don’t like to repeat myself.
” He paces in front of the mats like he’s preparing for battle.
“Rule number one: show up on time. Early is on time, on time is late, and late means you’re conditioning until you’re showing the rest of the class what color your breakfast was.
Rule number two: shower. With. Soap,” he says, enunciating and popping the p.
“Actual soap. I shouldn’t have to specify that, but here we are. ”
A few guys snicker. Coach side-eyes them like they already smell bad.
“Practice hygiene like you might talk some poor girl into going down on you. It’s unlikely, but hope is important.
” He pauses and quirks a brow like he just remembered something.
“Or guy. That’s another thing—we don’t discriminate here at Huntston.
There’s a zero-tolerance policy for that kind of shit. ”
Well, that’s certainly good to know. Considering it doesn’t seem like Pierce Jamison has grown up at all, I’m better off bracing myself for the inevitable taunts about my sexuality, which I’ve never felt the desire to hide.
It’s reassuring to know rumors won’t get me in trouble here the way they did back in high school.
“Anyway, I don’t care who or what you’re into.
Just wash your ass. Rule number three: don’t be stupid.
Half of you are already failing this one, but it’s important to set goals.
There are rules on this campus for a reason, follow them.
Don’t party so much you forget you’re here for an education. Act like you’ve got some sense.”
“Rule number four,” he continues. “You’re a goddamn athlete, so act like it.
If I find you skipping workouts without a good reason and eating like shit, I’ll make you do wind sprints until you hallucinate.
We talk about weight a lot in this sport, but it’s all about balance.
Exercise regularly, and eat real, healthy food.
Protein and vegetables. A protein shake is not breakfast, it’s a supplement.
A handful of almonds or a bowl of iceberg lettuce drenched in Hidden Valley is not lunch.
A donut is not… Well, okay, sometimes a donut is a meal, but not every day. Balance, people!”
He pauses like he might have forgotten what else he wanted to talk about, but then looks up sharply. “Last rule—BONERS!”
I snap to attention, confused and slightly amused by how loudly this man, who looks a bit like if Dr. Phil was a short, jacked drill sergeant, wearing too-tight short athletic shorts and a tucked in polo shirt, just yelled the word boner. I’m pretty sure it echoed off the ceiling.
“Boners happen. Walk it off. I don’t want to hear about it, and I damn well don’t want to see it. Walk. It. Off.”
He looks around the room, dead serious, and then claps once. “Alright, moving on. Let’s meet your captains!”
He gestures towards the bench, and two guys stand up.
One of them, Sean Cabot, has a reddish farmer’s tan that accentuates his bulging biceps and a Huntston University ball cap pulled low over his forehead, which Coach McCoy promptly smacks off his head.
Sean nudges someone in the first row, who stands to join them as Coach introduces the second guy.
Roman Bailey has dark brown skin, close-cropped black hair, and a wide smile.
He’s laughing as he bends to pick up Sean’s hat, tossing it to the third guy when Sean reaches for it.
Sean pushes Roman in a way that suggests they’re good friends, and Coach’s amused scolding tells me that, overall, this is a good-natured group of people.
Coach McCoy certainly has an interesting sense of humor.
All my thoughts come to a screeching halt when Coach McCoy gestures to the last captain, drawing my eyes away from the two guys now grappling and towards the third guy.
It’s the same person that was standing earlier, and I recognize him immediately.
I even remember his name before Coach introduces him.
How could I ever forget?
My eyes roam over his tall, lean body. His black shorts show off his perfectly toned thighs that make my mind go south before I avert them to his grey team shirt, but the sight of his biceps isn’t much safer.
The olive tones of his skin are deeper than I remember, but it’s possible he spent the summer somewhere sunny.
I can easily imagine him jogging shirtless on a beach somewhere.
There isn’t a hair out of place, his deep chestnut hair neatly coiffed and combed to the side, giving him a regal look. Like an athletic Disney prince.
Despite recognizing him right away, I don’t actually know Lincoln Beckett.
I’ve only met him once and met is a stretch.
But after our short interaction in the strangest match of my wrestling career to date—certainly the most memorable—I sometimes think of him.
I’ve always wondered what happened to him, if he was okay, or how deep the shock and fear I saw in his eyes had gone.
I wondered what would have happened if I’d followed him when he stormed off the floor.
I almost did, but I saw a few people follow him, and I figured it was best to let it go.
His dark eyes lock on mine and widen. I think he must recognize me too, which makes me smile. He seems taken aback by it, and scowls at me, which is both concerning and kind of cute. I raise an eyebrow, trying to have a mental conversation with a complete stranger, and his eyes turn stoney.
Something tells me he’s not happy to see me, but his reaction is… something.
It’s a start. I’ll take it.