Coach Me

I bite back a smile, tuck the phone in my back pocket, and hurry for the exit, stepping out into the crisp, fall air.

SIXTEEN

Lakes is back to herself in no time, and she’s looking better than she did a week-and-a-half ago.

She laughs with Ramirez and Rose, oblivious to the stares from her other teammates. She’s racing during practice again, not letting the thought of a minor sprain slow her down. I guess she took my words to heart. She’s leaving the other girls in the dust during the practice sprints.

Veronika said Lakes was mostly healed when she checked her yesterday. She gave her the green light to practice again today and told Lakes to take it easy. Lakes is doing everything but taking it easy.

I’m sure she knew there would be some attention coming her way after what happened, and considering that Howard told the whole team that she got suspended from practice because of an accident (a blatant lie), some of the teammates are probably a little pissy with Lakes about it. Whether Howard lied or not, at least the other teammates know to keep their distance from Lakes, or they’ll end up being suspended too.

She seems much better now, though I’m not so keen on her new friendship with the quarterback. Football players are now on the field practicing drills, and whenever they get breaks, the quarterback comes over and calls for Lakes. She goes to him, smiling and blushing and being all girly, and something about that annoys the hell out of me.

Whenever I see her go to him, I blow my whistle. Like right now. She’s just finished her 200-meter practice sprint with two other girls and saw the quarterback stretching by the field goal post. She’s now standing in front of him and he’s tucking loose hairs behind her ear and smiling down at her.

I pick up my whistle and blow it. “Let’s go! Onto the 400!” I shout. “Let’s go, Lakes! We aren’t out here to flirt! Bring your ass on!”

Lakes steps away from Stephen, already looking at me. She narrows her eyes, rolls them at me, and then faces Stephen again, placing a swift kiss on his cheek before meeting up with me on the track.

I set my timer as the girls line up, then blow my whistle. They take off, Lakes wins, but then she stumbles a bit. She makes a pained expression, and Nicole and Parker rush to her. I sigh, jogging over to meet her.

“What’s up, Lakes?” I ask.

“I don’t know. Ankle is feeling a little weird,” she murmurs.

I bend down to touch it. “Feels a little swollen.” I stand back up. “Can you walk on it to the conditioning room?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Veronika is out today but I’ll take you back and check it out. Everyone else, head over to Hamilton. Tell her you need to stretch. Let’s go, Lakes.”

They follow my instructions, jogging to the opposite side of the track where Hamilton is training a dozen girls on hurdles, while I walk side-by-side with Amber.

“I hope my ankle isn’t like this for pre-season,” Amber mutters as we walk down the tunnel.

“Shouldn’t be. Are you icing it every night?”

“Yeah, for about fifteen minutes every night.”

“Well, you have pressure on it right now and aren’t in too much pain, so I’m sure it’s not too bad. We told you to take it easy today.” I open the door to the conditioning room. Amber limps her way inside and climbs on the table.

I take off my jacket, tossing it on the back of one of the chairs. “Lie back. Let me check it out.”

Amber lays back and I don’t miss the way her shirt lifts, revealing her flat belly. I avoid looking at her belly, picking up her left foot, and examining her ankle.

“It doesn’t look too bad.” I grab the tip of her blue running shoe, rolling her ankle. She only winces a little. I keep rolling it with my right hand, my left hand firmly gripping her leg to keep it steady. Her skin is soft, I notice. Freshly shaved.

I look away, at the wall across from me. I can’t look at a college student like this.

“Why do you always call me out when you see me talking to Stephen?” Amber asks as I continue rolling her ankle. I lower it and begin to massage the swollen area.

I avoid her eyes. “Because you’re supposed to be practicing, not flirting with football players. Do that on your own time.”

She huffs a laugh. “Sounds like you’re a little jealous, Torres.”

“Jealous of what?” I stop massaging her ankle and lock on her eyes. “I’ve heard terrible stuff about that kid. I’m sure you can do better.”

“You’ve heard stuff like what?”

“Lots of stuff. Don’t think this is his first rodeo with one of my runners.” I walk away from the table to go to the freezer. After taking out an icepack, I carry it back, and place it on her ankle.