The Coaching Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 4)

“I’m heading out, but…I just wanted to say thanks for coming over to check on me, and, you know, being a concerned citizen and all.”

She musters up a weak smile.

“Don’t worry about it, I have sisters—I’ve been down this path a time or two.” Or a hundred, usually under duress.

When I was younger—ganglier—my sister Veronica used to sit on my chest to hold me down while she spilled her guts so she’d have someone to talk to. I had to hear all about her drama—drama with my parents, with boys, with her friends.

Her teen years were my worst nightmare.

“So are you feeling better?”

Her smile is wobbly. “I am. Much better.”

I shift on the balls of my feet, hands stuffed in the pockets of my jeans. “That’s good.”

“I’m…” she considers her words. “I’m new here this year and it’s been…a challenge meeting new people. Everyone has their friends.”

The backpack I’ve hoisted over my shoulder gets set down on the study desk.

“Yeah?” I want to ask her how it’s been challenging, but don’t want to pry. Still, it seems like she needs someone to talk to, and I have a little time to kill, so I sit back down in my chair. “How?”

She shifts, worrying her bottom lip, and I can tell she’s holding back, unsure about invading my space and taking up more of my time.

“Want to sit?” I grab a nearby chair, dragging it over as a gesture of encouragement.

“Uh…sure.” Tentatively, she closes the space between us, pulling the chair out the rest of the way. Sets her bag next to mine. “But only if it’s not a bother?”

“Nah, I have a few minutes.”

“All right.” Pause. “Is this weird? I’m so sorry my crying interrupted you before—I’m really embarrassed about that.”

“You were crying? I thought that was a herd of dying cats,”

I joke, failing to mention that her crying was less irritating than her hogging my favorite study spot.

“Haha, very funny.” She laughs, sniffling. “But also true.”

“We’ve all had our shitty days—this one was yours, I guess.”

“Yeah.” She’s quiet for a few beats. “So what was it I interrupted? What are you working on?”

“Human anatomy paper. Tedious.”

“That sounds…” her voice trails off.

“Boring? It is.”

“Boring is not at all what I was going to say! What’s your major?”

“Kinesiology.” I grab the water bottle out of my bag and take a long pull, trying to stay hydrated. “What’s yours?”

“Pre-law.”

My brows go up. “What’s your focus?”

“I’m thinking family law.”

I smile. “My dad is a lawyer.”

This news perks her up. “Really? What kind.”

“Real estate. Mergers and acquisitions.”

“Whoa, fancy.”

It kind of is. “He loves it.” I rack my brain for something new to say, blurting out, “So do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

Her shoulders sag. “Not really. It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Why, did you do something stupid?”

“Maybe. I don’t know—I guess time will tell.”

“Time will tell?” I ask slowly, treading lightly.

“As in, nine months from now?”

“What?” She looks horrified, the implication turning her face an unflattering shade of red. “No! No, that’s not even remotely close. God no.”

“You know what, forget I asked.”

“Is it weird that I kind of want to talk to you even though I don’t know you?”

“No, it’s not weird, because you don’t know me and I’m not going to judge you. Plus, I live alone and wouldn’t have anyone to tell when I get home, haha.”

Her lean fingers toy with my notebook, bending back the edges nervously.

“So there are these guys,” she starts.

There always are.

I nod. “Uh huh.”

“Why does this have to be so embarrassing?” Her hands cover her face self-consciously and she shakes her head. “Phew, here goes nothing!” She takes a deep breath. “Okay, so, you know how some guys are complete assholes, and occasionally you hear about, like, fraternity guys or whatever betting that they can sleep with a girl?”

“Yeah. Happens all the time.”

“Well it happened to me.”

I’m ramrod straight, unmoving as she blushes bright red, silently waiting for her to continue.

“They, um…” Her tongue darts out, licking her lips. “They had a bet to see who could sleep with me, and I overheard some guys talking about it in the gym.”

“Were they laughing about it?”

“No, not these guys. They seemed upset about it—actually, they were discussing whether or not to rat out their friends.”

“Do you know who the guys are?”

“Yes.”

“Did you end up actually…” my sentence trails off and I can’t bring myself to ask her if she actually slept with the guy. Man this is awkward.

Her head gives a shake. “God, no, I’m not desperate. Or stupid. What is wrong with someone that they’d make a bet like that? What assholes.”

“Who were they?”

“Some guys who know my dad.”

“How do they know your dad?”

“He’s…” her voice stalls. “He works here.”

“Staffer?”

“Coach.”

I sit back in my seat, eyes glued to her face. “Are they players?”

Slight nod.

I let out a low whistle. “Holy shit.” Talk about shitting where you eat. “Does your dad know?”

“No, and I’m not going to tell him—not yet anyway. I have to give it more thought.”

I don’t point out that she won’t have to; these things have a way of being discovered all on their own. Her dad will find out soon enough.

Snitches, snitches everywhere.

“Do you mind me asking what sport he coaches?” Curiosity gets the best of me. “I won’t say anything, promise.”

Her response is a long, weighted pause as she considers whether or not to tell me.

Her lips move, the low mutter barely audible.

“Say again?”

“Wrestling.”

Wrestling. Coach Donnelly.

I’ve never met the man personally, but last roommates were wrestlers and have shared plenty of stories over the last few years. From what I’ve gleaned, the man is sharp, shrewd, and tolerates zero bullshit.

“I might have heard rumors that they’ve had problems with some people on the team.”

“Rumors?”

“Yeah. Last year a few guys were busted for hazing a new member on the wrestling team. Half of them faced suspension.”

“Really? Wow, I didn’t know that—I’m surprised my dad never said anything.” She tilts her head curiously.

“He never railed about it in front of you? He had to have been pissed.”

“I actually didn’t live with him until this semester, and our phone conversations were always about me.” Her shoulders slouch. “Man that sounds selfish.”

“No, it sounds like you didn’t have tons of time to sit on the phone talking about his job. He wanted to hear about you, not complain.”

She bites back a smile. “Tell me more about the hazing. Do you know anything about it?”

I’m quiet, racking my brain for specific details.

“So I only know this information because my roommates were wrestlers and they would come home and bitch about it. Last year, when a new guy joined the roster, they gave him shit. Stuck him with a restaurant tab, ditched him at some cabin in the woods, shit like that. It probably seemed like harmless fun, but it wasn’t. I’d tell you to ask your dad about it, but he probably won’t discuss it if he hasn’t already.”