Chapter 5 #2
“Don’t encourage them.” Tate’s large hand wraps around mine and pulls it down to my side. “It’s like being at the zoo when they say you can’t feed the animals. Except they’re the animals and they feed off attention.”
I try to pay attention. I really, really do. It’s just hard to do when he puts his hands back in his pockets but his touch manages to stick around. Sparks crackle and pop, the feeling burning into my skin.
“Got it. Don’t feed the kids.” I nod, knowing damn well that I do not have it and will most likely wave at the next person who looks my way. It’s called manners, for goodness’ sake. Look it up. It’s also called a nervous tic, but maybe don’t look that one up.
“Attention!” he adds on quickly, panic and humor lacing his voice. Before this moment, I didn’t think it was possible for a man like Tate to look flustered, and it’s as adorable as it is shocking. “Don’t feed the kids attention. We feed them food. Often.”
“Very important distinction,” I say. Part of me wants to tease him about it a little more, but I’m not sure he’s a teasing kind of guy, so I have mercy and change the topic instead. “So you played college football and now you’re a high school coach?”
It’s more of a statement than a question, thanks to the kids calling him Coach T, his embroidered polo, and the fact that he’s standing on the football field before eight o’clock in the morning.
They’re small details of what I’m sure is a big life, and I’m surprised by how much I want to learn more.
“Yeah, I—” he starts but doesn’t finish.
“He isn’t just a high school football coach, he’s the head football coach of the Celestial Astros.
” An adult, not a kid this time, answers for Tate.
He’s wearing a polo that matches Tate’s, but his is embroidered with “Coach Matt” instead.
He has scruffy brown hair, bright red cheeks, and kind eyes.
I like him immediately. “And he’s going to lead us to the state championship for the first time since he was a student here and led the team to victory as the quarterback before heading down to Austin. Ain’t that right, Coach?”
Head coach? The quarterback? Austin? I wish Tate was the one telling me this, but I’ll take what I can get.
I grab on to each morsel of information about this tall, dark, and gorgeous man and tuck it away somewhere deep in the back of my mind.
Someplace so deep, it will probably come up when I fall asleep tonight, just like his smile.
“Christ, Matt,” Tate groans. “I already gave you the damn job. There’s no need to lay it on so thick.”
“I’m not laying it on, just telling her the god’s honest truth.” Matt waves Tate off before turning his attention to me and extending his hand. “Matt Holmes. Nice to meet you.”
“Luna Starr.” I shake his hand. “Nice to meet you too.”
“Nice.” Matt’s eyes go wide and his smile doubles in size. “Luna Starr of Celestial. What a stellar name.”
I’ve heard a lot about locker room talk over the years, and almost all of it was bad.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have preconceived notions when I pictured what high school football coaches, especially in Texas, would be like.
But I can say, with one hundred percent certainty, in no uncertain terms, never did I ever think one would use the word stellar in casual conversation.
I was right. Matt Holmes is a good one.
“Thank you for noticing.” I smile back. “I think it’s pretty stellar too.”
“You’re both stellar,” Tate says, but the words sound clunky coming out of his mouth. “But you know what would be even more stellar, Matt? If you got the guys organized so we could knock out a quick scrimmage before it gets too hot.”
“Stellar scrimmage, got it.” Matt winks at me before blowing into the whistle hanging around his neck and running down the field. “Get some more water, boys! It’s time to scrimmage.”
I watch as the kids break out into a flurry of activity and excitement.
They showed up for practice, but scrimmaging is what they came for.
They all scatter in different directions and line up at the water hose contraptions spread out around the field while Matt huddles up with a couple of other people wearing matching polos.
“Matt seems fun,” I tell Tate, something I’m sure he already knows, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.
“Yeah.” He fidgets with the whistle around his neck and shifts from side to side. “We have a good group of guys here, the players and coaches. I got lucky.”
I’ve had my fair share of toxic jobs, and I know healthy work environments start from the top.
“I don’t think that’s luck,” I say. “It sounds like good leadership to me.”
“Thanks, but…” He looks away, and just when I think he’s about to brush off my compliment, something catches his eye and I get to watch as his face transforms right in front of me.
He crouches down to the ground, and the English bulldog I saw earlier runs into his arms, his entire little potato body wiggling and shaking with so much excitement, he almost knocks Tate over.
“Whoa! Calm down.” Tate laughs and the rest of the world falls silent. His bucket hat falls off and the sun shines directly upon him, as if summoned by the power of his rare, and oh-so-beautiful, smile. “Are you almost ready to go home?”
The dog’s tongue falls out of his mouth as he grunts and snorts his answer, leaning into Tate’s touch as he scratches him behind the ear.
Lucky puppy.
“So, what?” I squat down next to him and hold my hands out for the dog to sniff. “Matt you’ll introduce me to, but you keep this guy all to yourself?”
“If you remember correctly, Matt introduced himself. Trust me, I have no control over who that man talks to. But I mean, look at this face.” He cups his hands around his dog’s wrinkly face and scrunches up the folds even more. “Who’d want to share this guy?”
It’s almost as if the man I’ve talked to up until now has been replaced by Tate’s goofy, dog-loving twin. His dazzling—yes, dazzling—smile fits so seamlessly on his face, his dimple popping and his white teeth shining against his dark skin, it’s unfathomable to think he’d ever frown.
“Nobody in their right mind, that’s for sure.” I rub my hand across the dog’s silky fur and he wiggles his way out of Tate’s grip and comes straight to me. “Well, hello! Are you the best puppy in the world? I think you are!”
I don’t mean for my voice to jump three octaves, but laws are laws and I can’t not use this voice when I talk to dogs. Especially ones as cuddly and lovey as this one.
“Sorry.” Tate apologizes as the dog tries to drown me in slobber. “If you meet Duke at his level, he’s going to aim for the face every time.”
He has a bulldog named Duke and is capable of smiling. I tuck two more nuggets back with the rest of my scant, but important, knowledge of Tate.
“He’s just a lover, not a fighter.” I laugh as I attempt, and fail, to dodge his wet tongue. “Right, Duke?”
“Duke, chill. Here—” Tate’s strong hands come around my waist. I lose the ability to breathe, and his fingers burn through my threadbare T-shirt as he lifts me off the ground. “He’ll still let you pet him, but he’s not as intense with the licking when you’re standing up.”
“Thanks,” I say. The track doesn’t feel solid beneath my feet as he takes a step back, his touch still lingering at my waist. “Drowning in dog slobber at a football practice is not how I want to go out.”
“I don’t know,” Tate says. “There are worse ways to go out than being loved to death by Duke.”
I open my mouth to agree with him, but before I can, whistles start to blare from across the field, and a chorus of deep voices chants while the rest of the group clap in unison.
“Astros on three, Astros on three,” they shout. “One, two, three, Astros!”
Applause breaks out and the kids disperse to their spots either on the field or the sideline.
“Aye, Coach T!” one of the players yells, but there are too many kids around to even guess who’s talking. “You still trying to spit game or are you going to come back to practice now?”
“Okay, Coach T!” someone else from somewhere else yells. “We see that rizz!”
Spit game? Rizz? Kids really say this stuff?? I thought it was just a joke on the internet.
Holy shit.
How old am I?
Also, and more importantly, is that what was going on here?
“Christ,” he hisses beneath his breath, aiming a glare at the masses of laughing teens across the field. “I’m so sorry. I swear they live to give me a hard time.”
“No apologies necessary. I’ve never worked with teenagers, but as a former teen myself, I remember messing with my coaches and teachers. It’s a rite of passage.”
I used to drive my soccer coach nuts. If he was as hot as Tate, I can only imagine how insufferable I would’ve been.
“That’s nice of you to say.” A rueful grin tugs on the corner of his mouth, and if I wasn’t already melting from the sun, I’m pretty sure that look would do the trick. “I’ll let them know you defended them when I’m making everyone run extra ladders at the end of practice.”
“Ladders?” I ask, sounding only half as horrified as I really am. “In this weather?”
If you’ve never done a ladder before, first of all, congratulations.
Second of all, let me explain. A ladder is where you’re made to stand at the baseline on a field and then sprint to the next line, then back, then the next one, and repeat again.
So on a football field, you’d stand at the back of the end zone, run to the ten-yard line, back to the end zone, then to the twenty-yard line, back to the end zone, and repeat until you’ve made it all the way across the field and back.
It’s torture in the form of conditioning, and honestly? Waterboard me. I don’t want it.
“What can I say? That’s Texas football for you.” He shrugs, and all of a sudden, his grin looks evil. “Enjoy the rest of your workout. Feel free to join them on the ladders if you want.”
“Oh yeah. About that…” I look at my watch. “I have literally anywhere else to be, but maybe I’ll see you around again sometime.”
I think back to our farewell from our night in the bar.
“Maybe,” he says. “It’s a pretty small town.”
He repeats what he said to me that night, and although I’ve been known to find meaning where there isn’t any, I can’t help the way the butterflies that are flying rampant since my arrival in Celestial take flight again.
Unlike when he left the bar, this time when Tate leaves, I watch him go, but this go around I get the added bonus of watching Duke chase after him on his little legs and my new friend Matt waving to me down the sideline.
“Bye, Luna! See ya—”
“Later, Luna!” A symphony of teen boys drowns out the end of Matt’s sentence. “Bye, Moon Girl!”
Moon Girl? I was teased almost my entire life for my name so I probably shouldn’t love this as much as I do, but what can I say? I’m kind of obsessed. It’s just too bad for the team that Tate, on the other hand, isn’t impressed at all.
“Have you all lost your minds? I know your parents taught you better than that. When you’re talking to her, it’s Miss Starr or ma’am,” Tate bellows, and I swear the base in his voice causes the ground to tremor. “Now try it again.”
He lifts a hand in the air and raises one finger at a time.
“Goodbye, Miss Starr!” they chant in unison when he gets to three, and it’s so loud, I’m pretty sure the entire town of Celestial can hear them.
“Goodbye, Astro football players and coaches.” I laugh as I wave back to everyone. “Stay hydrated, don’t get hurt, and play good!”
As far as pep talks go, it’s not my best work, but it will have to do.
“What can I add on to that?” Tate turns back to his team with a very excited Duke sitting right at his feet. “That’s advice for the ages, boys.”
I consider running another lap for approximately 2.
5 seconds before I think better of it and grab my stuff from the bleachers instead.
I might not have gotten my full workout in, but I did get to see Tate, and with the way he makes my heart flutter, who’s to say which is better for my cardiovascular health?