Chapter Thirty-One
Clay
It’s been a long damn week.
Early mornings, back-to-back practices, and the usual whispers that follow when a story hits the press. I’ve kept my head down and focused on the team, drowning out all the noise because that's what it is. Noise. But by the time Friday rolls around, I’m done going through the motions.
Tonight’s about her.
The second I pull into the parking lot of Tessa’s dorm, I already feel lighter.
The air’s cool enough to wake me up, that crisp kind of January chill.
A few dead leaves stick to the damp pavement, and there’s a faint shine on the cars from last night’s rain.
I grab my bag and check my phone before getting out. There's one unread text from Tessa.
You can come up whenever you get here. Be aware, it’s a mess, so no judgment.
I chuckle to myself. Of course, she’d say that.
The dorm looks the same as it did the last time I was here, although Tessa finally got around to taking down the garland around her door now that Christmas is over. A few students recognize me, but for the most part, they don't say too much, thankfully.
I knock twice on her door, and as expected, it opens to pure chaos.
Clothes draped over a chair, an open suitcase still half unpacked from winter break, notebooks scattered all over her desk, and a pile of laundry ready to tip over onto the floor.
In the middle of it all stands Tessa. Her hair is pulled up, cheeks flushed, and that familiar spark in her eyes when she sees me lighting her face.
I take it all in slowly, biting back a grin. “Wow.”
She narrows her eyes. “Don’t start.”
“I wasn’t gonna say anything.”
“You don’t have to, I can see it on your face. You know, it’s all very hypocritical considering you’re still living out of boxes.”
“You’ve got a point,” I say, stepping inside. “Although I have a reason. Why unpack when I will likely be moving soon? If I stay on as the coach, I want to find a house. If I don’t, well...”
“Maybe you have a point, but I've been busy since we got back from break. Classes, catching up on assignments, trying not to get drilled with questions every time I walk across campus. I haven’t exactly had time to… organize.”
“Organize?” I look around, pretending to study the mess like I’m evaluating a play. “You sure you’re not already running a system? Piles for clean, piles for dirty, and piles for ‘still deciding’?”
She gives me a mock glare. “You’re funny.”
“I try.”
She tosses a sweatshirt into her duffel and zips it closed with more force than necessary. “For the record, some of this is clean laundry. I just haven’t folded it.”
“Sure it is,” I tease.
“Coach, don’t make me bench you before our date even starts.”
Hearing her say “our date” gets me. I reach for the front of my pants, gripping my hard length, debating whether I want to make us late by tossing her on her bed, covered in clothes, and fucking her.
Before I can respond, a voice cuts through the room. “Oh my God, please don’t tell me...”
I turn to see her roommate—Summer, if I remember right—standing in the doorway with a mug in her hand and the widest grin I’ve seen in days.
“Summer,” Tessa warns, already bracing for whatever’s about to come out of her mouth.
“What?” Summer says, eyes flicking between us. “I thought I heard voices, but I didn’t expect to find you and Coach Barlowe about to take a trip to pound town...”
I laugh under my breath while Tessa groans. “Please stop talking.”
Summer ignores her completely, smirking at me. “Look who it is—Mr. GQ himself. The one who’s been stealing my girl and sending her back all smiley and thoroughly fucked. Nice work, Coach. Keep it up.”
Tessa hides her face in her hands. “I’m moving out.”
“Don’t you dare,” Summer says. “You’re the only thing keeping this place interesting.”
“She’s mortifying me,” Tessa mutters, looking at me from between her fingers.
I grin. “Nah, I like her. Even if she has a habit of showing up at awful times.”
Summer perks up. “See? He gets it.”
“Okay, we’re leaving,” Tessa says quickly, snatching up her bag.
“Have fun, lovebirds!” Summer calls as we step into the hall. “But not too much fun. Last time I had to hear her wake up from having a sex dream, and it’s reminding me how very single I currently am.”
The door shuts behind us, and Tessa groans again. “I swear, I’m never telling her anything ever again.”
I chuckle as we walk down the hall. Outside, the cold air hits, and Tessa pulls her jacket tighter around herself while I take her bag, tossing it into the back seat of my truck before helping her in. She glances over once we’re on the road, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“You’re still not gonna tell me where we’re going, are you?” she asks.
“Nope.” Her head tilts, studying me. I reach over, resting my hand lightly over hers on the console. “Trust me. You’ll have fun.”
She looks down at our hands for a beat, then threads her fingers through mine. “I already am.”
And just like that, I don’t feel like I’m walking a line between who I used to be and who I’m trying to become. Everything feels like it’s falling into place the way it was meant to. Well, maybe without all the headlines dragging me and our relationship, but still.
The drive out of town takes less than fifteen minutes, just long enough for the streetlights to thin out and the fields we pass through to turn into patches of fog.
Tessa hums along to the radio, her hand resting on the console, fingers brushing mine every so often.
She’s trying not to look curious, but she’s terrible at hiding it.
When I turn into a gravel lot and kill the engine, she leans forward, squinting through the windshield.
“Wait,” she says slowly. “Is this…?”
“Yep.”
Her head snaps toward me, eyes wide. “You brought me to a bar?”
“Technically, it’s a bar and grill,” I correct, trying not to laugh.
She raises a brow, the corner of her mouth twitching. “So what now? You planning on getting me drunk so I forget how embarrassing my roommate was earlier?”
I grin. “Something like that.”
We step out, boots crunching against the gravel. The place looks exactly how I remembered it, with neon beer signs glowing in the windows, laughter spilling out every time the door opens, and the faint thunk of wood splitting echoing from inside.
It takes her a second to realize what that sound is.
“Clay,” she says slowly, stopping just inside the door. “Is that—?”
“Axe throwing,” I finish for her, trying not to smile too big.
She stares at the rows of wooden lanes and targets painted like giant bull’s-eyes, then turns to me, her expression somewhere between amused and horrified. “You brought me to a place where I get to throw sharp objects at the wall?”
“Pretty much.”
Her eyes narrow. “You do remember who you’re dating, right? How many times did I trip over something or on the ice while we were together during winter break? You clearly don’t know me well if you thought this would be a good idea.”
“I do.” I smirk, reaching for her hand. “That’s what makes this fun.”
She laughs, shaking her head as I lead her to the counter. We sign in, grab our gear, and the instructor runs us through the basics. I already know she’s only half listening. Her eyes keep flicking toward the wall of axes like one of them has it out for her.
When it’s her turn, she hesitates at the throwing line.
“This feels like a bad idea,” she mutters.
“You’ll be fine,” I say, stepping up behind her. I rest my hands lightly over hers, guiding her stance. “Feet shoulder-width apart. Elbow high. And when you throw, follow through. Like this.”
She tilts her head just enough to look at me. “You realize if I miss and this thing comes back at me, you’re to blame.”
“Guess I’ll take my chances.”
She exhales, focuses, and lets it fly. The axe spins once, twice, before it hits the target with the handle instead of the blade, bouncing off the wood and clattering to the floor.
Her eyes go wide. “See? Terrible idea!”
I laugh, walking forward to grab it. “You almost hit the center.”
“Almost doesn’t count, Coach.”
“Then let’s fix that.”
We trade turns, and it doesn’t take long before she starts to get the hang of it. Every throw she lands gets closer, her laughter growing louder each time. At one point, she nails the board dead center. Both her hands fly up in the air in victory.
“Did you see that?” she shouts, spinning toward me.
“Hard to miss when you nearly took out the bull’s-eye.”
Her grin is contagious. “I’m basically a natural. I’ll be ready to turn pro before too long.”
“Yeah,” I say, closing the space between us. “You’re dangerous now.”
Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t move away. The room fades a little, and for a second, it’s just her smile, the pink on her cheeks, the way she looks up at me like she’s trying to soak in this moment.
Then someone behind us cheers, breaking the spell. She laughs and steps back, bumping my arm. “Come on, Coach. Think you can top that?”
We play a few more rounds before deciding we’re starving. The smell of greasy bar food wins out, and we grab a booth near the corner. A server drops off menus, and we order a couple of burgers and fries to split.
When she leans back against the booth, she’s still smiling. “Okay,” she admits, tilting her head as she looks at me. “I’ll give it to you. This was a pretty good idea.”
“Told you.”
“I’m still shocked you’d trust me with weapons.”
“I would never let anything happen to you. Besides, anytime we’re together, I never take my eyes off you, so it’s not like I’ve left you unsupervised.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “When did you become such a sweet talker? You talk about me being dangerous, but you’re the one people should be warned about.”
“Is that right?” I grin. “What’s the over-under that I can sweet-talk you out of that door for some dessert after we finish? I have a bit of a sweet tooth tonight, and the only cure is some of that sugar.” I wink.