Chapter 2 #2
“Sit,” he says tersely, so I quickly take a seat and look him in the eyes.
If I know one thing about Coach Wood, he doesn’t like squirrely men.
He likes confident players, so even though my innards shiver in fear, I’ll still pay him the respect he demands.
“Do you remember the time I saved you from making a grave mistake in Washington?”
Ehhh . . . what?
I mean, yes, I do, but that is not the first sentence I expected him to say.
I shift in my chair. “Uh, with that one girl at the bar?” I ask.
He nods. “She was an undercover reporter, and you had no idea. You were about to take her up to your room, and I stopped you.”
I nod. “Yes, you really did me a solid there,” I say, unsure of where this is going since that was over a year ago.
“I’m glad you see it that way.” He leans forward and places his hands on his desk. Looking me dead in the eyes, he says, “I’m going to need you to return the favor.”
“Uhh . . . you want me to stop you from taking an undercover reporter up to your room?”
“No, you moron.” He sighs with irritation. “I need you to do me a favor.”
“Oh.” I nervously chuckle. “Well, that I can do.”
“Good.” He clasps his hands together. “I need you to teach my daughter a lesson.”
“You have a daughter? When did that happen?”
“Twenty-two years ago.”
“Huh, interesting.” He has a daughter? How many years has he been our coach? How the hell did we not know he had a daughter? I cross one leg over the other and casually say, “You know, we don’t get to talk much. What is she like? Are you close with her? Do you?—”
“Can you shut the fuck up?”
I uncross my leg and sit up straight. “Yup, of course. So . . . you were saying . . .”
“I need you to teach my daughter a lesson.”
Confused, I tilt my head to the side and say, “Uh, what kind of lesson, sir? Because I’ll be honest with you, education and school really weren’t my strong suit.
Wasn’t really into the whole learning thing or tutoring.
Although I do excel at meddling. Perhaps I can offer you some help in that regard. ”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly growing increasingly more frustrated with me by the second.
Too bad for him, I grow more irritating the more nervous I am.
“Not an actual lesson. Jesus fuck, Posey, you need to stop getting into fights on the ice.” He picks up a pen and clicks it a few times.
“I need you to hire my daughter as your personal assistant. I know you don’t have one, correct? ”
“Correct,” I answer. “But how is me hiring your daughter as my personal assistant going to teach her a lesson?”
“Glad you asked.” He leans back in his chair now, looking more like a manipulating mastermind than the scary coach who screams at me daily.
“My daughter, Wylie, has recently told me she wants to quit school, even though she has one year left in her master’s program.
She’s been taking business classes, setting herself up for a great future, but instead wants to pursue graphic art. ”
“Ah.” I nod, not quite understanding. “And that is a . . . bad thing?”
“Yes, it’s a bad thing. Do you really think I want my daughter to be a struggling artist?”
“Well, to be fair,” I say, “she does have you as a father, so would she really be struggling?”
His eyes narrow, and I realize that maybe I don’t debate him on the welfare of his child but instead go along with whatever plan he has in mind.
“Although.” I nervously laugh. “It would be a great life lesson to learn if she sees what kind of hardship it would be to be a struggling artist in a world of capitalism.”
That lightens the scowl in his forehead. Despite the many fights on the ice, that was a pretty impressive comeback if I do say so myself.
“Glad you see it that way.” He clears his throat.
“To keep things short, I told her she could have one semester off to prove to me that she could handle making a life for herself as a graphic artist. If she can’t make a life for herself, she must return to school.
The caveat is that I’ve cut her off completely, but I told her I’d offer her a job that she’d probably have to take as a graphic artist to pay the bills.
She agreed, which leads me back to you. You are the job.
You will pay her minimum wage, and you will be demanding. ”
“Uh, what now?” I ask, blinking a few times.
“As your assistant, I require you to make her run around town, do illogical tasks, and work at all hours of the day. I want you to make her life a living hell, Posey. Show her that finishing school would be better than being a struggling artist.”
“Wow, that sounds great. Quite the lesson to be learned,” I say, trying to hide the sarcasm from my voice. “But I have to say, I’m not that high-maintenance.”
“Then find a way to be high-maintenance. Have her clean your apartment. Make you meals. Do your shopping, your laundry. For fuck’s sake, make her feed you your dinner because you’re saving your energy for your games. Be respectful, as this is my daughter, but make her life hell.”
“Uh-huh, I see where you’re going with this, and wow, what a great plan.” I slowly clap for him. “But I’m slightly hesitant because I do have a reputation and?—”
“I already have an NDA for her to sign.”
I nod, trying to come up with another reason as to why I don’t want to be an asshole to my coach’s daughter.
“What if I upset her?” I ask. “I don’t want her going to you, and you getting pissed at me.”
“If you upset her, I’ll give you a goddamn bonus. I’ll cover any fines you might incur through the season. I’m asking you to upset her.”
“Yup, I hear that.” I point at my ear. “Just feel uneasy about that aspect of it. I’m a pretty nice dude. Not one to hurt someone’s feelings.”
“Jesus Christ, Posey,” Coach yells. “You beat men up on the ice for a living. I’m asking you to be a little demanding with my daughter. Is that something you really can’t fucking handle?”
I quiver from the anger in his voice.
“No, I can.” I swallow hard. “For sure I can, but you know, there’s also the aspect of paying her. I tend to invest my money, so I’m not sure I can afford?—”
“If you can’t afford to pay my daughter minimum wage for a semester, then we need to talk about your spending habits.”
“Quite right, quite right.” I nod, starting to come up short with excuses.
I snap my finger and point at him. “You know, I actually enjoy the mundane tasks of life, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to give them up.
Nothing gives me more joy than picking up a pack of batteries from the corner store because I forgot to write them down on my grocery list. So you know?—”
“For fuck’s sake, Posey. Are you trying to tell me you can’t do me this little favor?” His eyes bore into me, like lasers trying to blow my head off my neck. “Because I would hate to see what happens if you can’t.”
And this is why I should stop sleeping around. This very reason.
Because people hold it against you at the most inopportune time.
Also, I’m pretty sure Coach Wood doesn’t really understand the definition of a favor. It’s a simple ask like, oh hey, can you help me move? Or heck, I have an itch on my back, can you get that for me? Or egad, I forgot my underwear, mind if I grab a pair of yours?
Those are favors. This is . . . this is a chore.
This is a task.
This is an objective.
A mission.
A secret operative.
A goddamn developing nightmare that I want nothing to do with.
But that doesn’t seem like an option for me.
“Uh, no,” I say, tacking on a smile. “I can help you. This won’t be a problem at all.”
“Good.” He picks up a piece of paper and hands it to me.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Ground rules.”
“Ground rules?” I ask, staring down at the paper.
“Yes, ground rules.” He picks up a piece of paper as well and starts reading. “Rule number one, you are not to become friends with my daughter. You are her boss, and that is it.”
“Yup. Understandable. Establishing a?—”
“Rule number two.” Okay, moving on. “You will pay her minimum wage and offer her no bonuses.”
“Bonuses, pffft, who likes those anyway?”
“Rule number three,” he continues with a force in his voice. “You will not offer her a place to live.”
“Wasn’t planning on it. But just so I’m aware, will she be homeless?”
“Rule number four,” he booms. Okay, so possibly homeless. Good to know. “There will be no perks to the job. No feeding her. No car service. No transportation. No credit card. She will have to figure all of this out on her own.”
“So you want me acting as a ruthless dictator. I haven’t practiced such a thing in my life just yet, but I’m up for the task. There’s always a time for a first.”
“And most importantly, rule number five. Under no circumstances will you have any sort of physical contact with my daughter.”
“What do you mean?—”
“Fucking her. You will not fuck her, Posey.”
“Ahh . . .” I smile. “Well, no worries there. Pretty sure if she looks anything like you, there will be no need for rule number five.”
His brow lifts, and I realize what I just said.
“I mean, shit, I didn’t mean that. You’re actually, wow, you’re a good-looking guy, very attractive.
The bald thing really accentuates your .
. . uh, steely eyes, and the tan you’ve been able to procure while coaching a winter sport is really impressive.
Not to mention your physique, just oof, what a bundle of muscles that are not wrinkly.
Some people your age might look wrinkly, but not you.
You’re firm. Firm in all the right places.
So much firmness. Just look at those forearms and the sinew and firmness.
Lots of firmness. And you know, just to throw it out there, not that you asked, but if I were a woman, then hell yeah, I would be talking to you about a date, or maybe a kiss or?—”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Yup.” I nod. “Thank you for that.” I bow my head as a courteous thank-you.