Her Coach Crush
Chapter 1
Chapter One
MARLOW
Well, this fucking sucks.
The thought floats in my head as I haul my pompoms and pink duffel bag in the backseat of my roommate Michaela’s sedan.
Our apartment just flooded after a disastrous leak and we have no choice but to relocate temporarily until our landlord fixes the situation.
We managed to pack our belongings and skedaddle right before the hallway ceiling caved in.
“It’s going to be okay, don’t worry,” Michaela says, shoving the key into the ignition. The car roars to life. “Just a heads up. My brother is…a bit of a grump. But he’ll take care of us until we can get back on our feet.”
I wonder if Michaela is saying that out loud, mostly to affirm it to herself.
Last I heard, she doesn’t have much of a relationship with her brother.
After their parents died in an unfortunate car crash, her brother, only twenty-three at that time, became her legal guardian.
After she turned eighteen and started her undergrad, they haven’t been particularly close.
She describes their relationship as frosty, estranged.
But half an hour ago, she called him freaking out and I caught quick bursts of the conversation as I frantically packed our bags, words like, “Apartment flooded, ceiling caving, need place to stay,” clanking around.
“He sounds like a good man.” I smile as I click on my seatbelt. “How long did he say we can stay with him?”
She reverses out of the parking spot, shrugging, “As long as we need. He still lives in our childhood home and we’ve got two spare rooms. We’ll only be a ten-minute drive from campus so commuting for practices, games, and classes should be easy.”
Michaela and I are in our third year of undergrad.
We met during freshman orientation week and hit it off right away.
We’re polar opposites in many ways. She’s an introverted ballerina and I’m the extroverted captain of the cheerleading team.
But we’re still best friends and attached at the hip. Wherever she goes, I go and vice versa.
“It’s really nice of him to offer his place.
” I don’t think we’ll need to stay there for too long, but if our landlord doesn’t resolve the situation, I’m going to have to search for a cheap apartment for us to rent.
I hope it doesn’t come down to that. I resist the urge to bite my nails, a habit I kicked to the curb years ago. “Does he live alone?”
Michaela is silent at first as we cruise down the street.
“Michaela?” I urge.
“Yeah. Just him.” She clears her throat. “And now us.”
I frown at the way she squirms in her seat and assume she’s nervous to see him. Our apartment flooding is a shitty situation but the silver lining is she’ll get to spend time with her brother.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later—after a quick pit stop at our favorite café to grab iced coffees and breakfast burritos, Michaela pulls into the driveway of a bungalow in a quaint, family-oriented neighbourhood.
The kind with kids playing street hockey, slip n slides in the front yards, large decks fit to host weekend barbecue parties, and reminiscent of childhood whimsy.
A pang to travel through my chest. I wish I grew up here.
“It’s so beautiful,” I tell her.
Michaela shifts the gear into park and sucks in a lungful of air, appearing ashen.
Probably at the thought of facing her brother after three years.
“Yeah. It is. It’s just, being here—” She gestures at the home in front of us.
“Has amplified my guilt. I wish I’d tried harder with my brother.
He did his best to raise me and I wasn’t always the nicest. I realize now how selfish it was of me to leave the moment I turned eighteen and not even make an effort to hang out with him.
The age gap between us made it harder to connect.
And yet, he did everything to ensure I had everything I needed and could live my best life. ”
I can only imagine how she’s feeling and I sympathize.
We live and we learn. Squeezing her shoulder, I say, “It’s going to be okay, Mic.
The first step to healing is admitting the problem and then taking the right steps to fix it.
I’m sure your brother will appreciate having you here.
Take this opportunity to mend any wrongs in your relationship. ”
She shoots me a relieved glance. “You’re right. C’mon, Marlow. Let’s go inside.”
We grab our bags and ascend the porch steps.
We ring the doorbell and seconds later, the front door swings open.
A big man fills the doorway.
Six foot five, black hair, handsome face with a short, trimmed beard, green eyes, thick and muscular body, white t-shirt, and old jeans faded from too many washes.
My jaw slackens.
It can’t be.
No way.
I know this man.
I’ve harboured a silly crush since I laid eyes on him for the first time during our school’s homecoming football game.
He was shouting directions and encouragement at his players in his deep voice.
There was something so hot about his posture and the harsh determination on his face.
Like he was a man who always got what he wanted, exuding pure masculine confidence.
And somewhere between the first kick and the last jump of my cheer routine, I became fully smitten with him.
Now whenever there’s football games, my gaze always seeks him from the sidelines while I’m waving my pompoms.
I never told anyone I had a crush on him, not wanting to be labelled weird for being into a man that was probably a decade my senior.
And thank God I never did. Because right now, I turn to Michaela in shock and whisper, “Your brother is Coach Thane?”