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"You worried about me, Papa Bear?"
"Why wouldn't I be? One of my players took a nasty hit."
"You let all your players stay the night?"
"No," I say honestly. "It was late. Everyone else was probably asleep or drunk at the afterparty."
"You could have just taken me home."
"Doc said you needed to be monitored."
"Alright," he says. His little grin lets me know he knows I’m full of shit.
Truth is, I am probably more worried about him than I would be another player. Not that I don't worry about anyone on my team that gets sick or injured. I've definitely seen my share of concussions. Normally, I’d assign a teammate or call the family, but in Jack's case, there's no family close enough to call, and he doesn't exactly have a ton of friends. Or at least not anyone I trust. And I wanted to see to him myself.
I'm about to open my mouth and apologize for pushing him to the point of exhaustion, but he beats me to it.
"I'm sorry, Coach."
"What for? I'm the one that should be sorry. I pushed you too far."
"No, you've pushed me exactly the right amount. I've never felt better."
I lift an eyebrow.
"Well, present circumstances excluded, obviously," he says, laughing. He winces a little, betraying the headache he still has.
"Sit the fuck down, Perry," I admonish him. "Have some soup, and then go back to bed."
"Yes, Coach."
I don't miss the tone of his voice, nor the heated way he watches me mill about the kitchen, but I ignore it. After I get him a bowl of soup and a spoon, I leave him in the kitchen and head to my study. I've been working hard to put some distance between us, and I can't let this mishap bring us back to where we were. Me getting too close to him puts us both in danger, in more ways than one.
The bag that the hospital put all of his stuff in is sitting on a chair on the other side of my desk, vibrating. It occurs to me that he probably has a few friends that want to check in on him, or that he might want to check in with. I pull his phone out of the bag to take to him, noticing he has several missed texts and calls, most of which are from Aniyah. Her name lights up the screen again as I set the phone in front of Jack, who has barely eaten any of the soup I gave him.
"Might want to call your girlfriend," I say. My voice comes out harsher than I mean for it to, exposing my jealousy and making me hate myself more. "Maybe you'd like her to watch over you tonight. Let me know if you'd like a ride anywhere. I'll take you."
With that, I head back to my study.
"You know it's not like that," Jack says in a low voice.
"Maybe it should be."
CHAPTER 19
JACK
I wake up in Coach Nicks' guest room for the second time. The light barely filtering through the blinds and dark blue curtains makes me think it's still pretty early morning. Coach will likely need to leave for work soon, and I should head back to my room to get ready for my classes today. After doing nothing but hydrating and sleeping yesterday, my headache isn’t as bad. I still have a backache and I feel a little weak, but it’s nothing I can't handle. I'm well enough to go to classes, probably. The nurse said I might still be contagious, but I'm not sure that excuses me from classes, and I can't afford any absences. I have my American Lit test this week, and I want my damn reward.
The smell of coffee hits my nose and I hear shuffling in the kitchen, so I head to talk to him. He's wearing a pair of athletic pants, not unlike the ones of his I'm wearing now, except his are a darker shade of grey and not practically falling off of him. No, they are perfectly tight across his muscular ass and thighs. I watch him cook something at the stove, a little weirded out by how much satisfaction I get out of watching him be so… domestic.
"How are you this morning?" He asks, not looking at me.
"Better now," I say, intentionally flirting now that my morning wood has returned with a vengeance and is aching after staring at his ass.
He ignores my suggestive tone. "Did you call Aniyah back?"
"No."
