Chapter 3 #2
I pull out my phone and check my contacts. There it is: "Logan McCoy" with a little hockey stick emoji next to it. He'd typed it himself, his fingers moving across my screen with casual confidence, like giving his number to strange women who shower him with coffee is something he does every Monday.
My thumb hovers over his name. Should I text him now? Thank him for the jacket again? Or would that seem too eager, too desperate? What's the protocol for texting a professional athlete after an accidental meet-cute that probably means nothing to him but has turned my entire day upside down?
I should wait. Definitely wait. Play it cool. Act like exchanging numbers with gorgeous hockey captains is a regular occurrence in my life.
But my fingers have other ideas: Thanks again for the jacket and for being so nice about the coffee ambush. This is Reese, by the way. The clumsy teacher.
My thumb hits send before I can second-guess myself, and I immediately stuff the phone back in my pocket like it's suddenly burning hot. Oh god. Was that too much? Too soon? Too awkward?
"Get it together, Thompson," I mutter, pushing off the wall and continuing toward my car.
It's just a text. To a guy who's probably forgotten about me already.
A guy who likely gets dozens of messages from women far more interesting and glamorous than a kindergarten teacher with coffee-stained clothes.
My phone buzzes, and I nearly trip over my own feet fishing it out of my pocket.
Coffee ambush is definitely going in my memoir. And you're welcome for the jacket—I've got about 50 more at home. Keep it if you want.
My heart does a ridiculous little dance. He responded. Immediately. With a joke.
I bite my lip, typing back: I couldn't possibly deprive you of what I'm sure is a very expensive piece of your wardrobe. But I'll take good care of it until I see you again.
The "again" hangs there on my screen, bold and presumptuous. As if seeing him again is a certainty rather than a wild, unlikely hope.
I reach my car and slide in, but don't start the engine. My phone buzzes again.
Looking forward to it. Maybe next time we can actually drink the coffee instead of wear it.
Is he... asking me out? I stare at the text, reading it over and over. It sounds like he's asking me out. But that can't be right. Guys like Logan McCoy don't ask out women like me.
That would be a nice change of pace, I finally reply, trying to match his casual tone while my insides are doing somersaults.
There's a pause before his next text comes through: I've got practice, but we'll talk soon. Enjoy the rest of your teacher workday, Reese.
I sit in my car, clutching my phone and grinning like an idiot. This doesn't feel real. None of it. But the evidence is right there in my hands—both in the form of texts and the jacket still wrapped around me.
I need to tell someone or I might explode. I hit Elena's contact and press call, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel as it rings.
"Hey, what's up?" Elena answers, sounding distracted.
"You are never going to believe what just happened." The words tumble out of me. "I mean, literally never. I barely believe it myself."
"Okay, dramatic much? What happened?"
"I met Logan McCoy."
There's a pause, then, "Wait, what? Logan McCoy as in the Blades captain?"
"Yes! I was at Hill of Beans and I literally crashed into him and spilled coffee all over both of us and it was mortifying but then he was so nice about it and he gave me his jacket because my shirt went see-through and we exchanged numbers and he just texted me and I think he might have asked me out but that's crazy, right?
" I say it all in one breath, then gulp in air.
"Holy shit, Reese." Elena's voice has gone from distracted to fully attentive. "Back up. You have Logan McCoy's phone number? And his jacket?"
I glance down at the sleeves still covering my hands. "Yes to both. And I mentioned you, by the way. That you're my best friend."
"And he asked you out?"
"I think so? He said something about actually drinking coffee next time instead of wearing it. That's date language, right?"
"From McCoy? Absolutely." There's a smile in her voice now. "He doesn't give out his number to just anyone, Reese. Trust me on that."
A warm feeling spreads through my chest. "I can't believe this is happening. Guys like him don't notice women like me."
"First of all, that's bullshit. You're gorgeous and funny and smart. Secondly, clearly he did notice you, so maybe rethink your assumptions about 'guys like him.'"
I lean my head back against the seat, trying to process it all. "It's just so unexpected. This morning I was just a harried teacher with a nonexistent prospect list. Now I'm... what? A woman with a hot hockey player's phone number and jacket?"
"You're still you," Elena says gently. "But maybe with some exciting new possibilities."
Possibilities. The word echoes in my mind, full of promise and potential.
"I should probably actually do some work today," I say, though the thought of evaluating my kindergartner’s portfolios seems impossibly mundane now. "But I wanted to tell you first."
"Keep me updated. And Reese? Don't overthink this. Just enjoy it, okay?"
"I'll try." But overthinking is what I do best.
After we hang up, I sit for a moment longer, hugging the jacket around me. The day has taken such an unexpected turn that I'm still trying to catch up to it.
Yet here I am, with his beautiful jacket and his number and the lingering memory of how his eyes twinkled when he smiled at me.
I start my car, a strange mix of nerves and excitement buzzing in me. Maybe Elena's right—maybe I should just enjoy this unexpected collision and see where it leads. After all, my carefully planned, predictable life has been working out just fine, but "fine" has never made my heart race like this.
As I drive back toward school, I can't help but smile. Whatever happens next—whether this turns into something real or becomes just a funny story to tell someday—right now, in this moment, I feel alive with possibilities I hadn't even considered when I woke up this morning.
And that feeling, more than the jacket or the phone number, is what makes this day extraordinary.