Page 7 of The First Love Myth
I do a double take and stop midstride, literally snapping back out of motion. “You’re heading up track and field?”
He looks up, and whatever passed through me is already quelled. I’m not sure if I’m happy about that or immensely disappointed. Maybe both.
“Yes,” he says. “It made the most sense after Coach McCloughan went over to Mansfield.”
“He did not!” I can’t help the louder-than-necessary volume or the shock and betrayal in my voice. Some things are ingrained in you when you go to Ardena, and a hearty dislike of Mansfield Prep, the private school on the other side of town, is one of them. Not to mention I’m completely aghast that this piece of AHS athletics gossip hasn’t found its way to me. It totally trumps my triangle with Andrew and Claire.
Max laughs, and an inkling of the attraction returns. He’s never had this effect on me before. I mean, I noticed him—I was off the market, not dead—but not in a legs-quaking sort of way.
“I can’t say I mind too much,” he says.
“Oh?”
Before he can answer, he’s hailed by the group of new arrivals—the junior football staff and his former team. They bellow his name and crowd us, pulling him in for those man-hug things.I step back. I know these guys. They were sophomores when I graduated, all vying to replace Andrew as quarterback, but I’m not part of this moment. They barely notice me.
With a last look at Max, I slip away to the quiet side of the field and the junior staffers who were my campers only the summer before.
No one tells stories about the thirty-yard line. The end zone, the fifty, sure, but the thirty is any other marker. Close enough for a good kicker to score but far enough away that nothing is guaranteed. No one tells stories about the thirty-yard line except me.
I lie there now, my knees bent, my arm slung across my face shielding the sun. Orientation ended a while ago, but several staffers are still on the other side of the field. I remember being one of them last summer—loitering in the parking lot, goofing off, making plans. There are girls I know over there, but I’m not sure I can handle any more side-eye and whispers. The sound of feet on the track calms me. Coach Evans—Max—and some of the football guys are running laps. I’m tempted to join in, if only because I’m faster than all of them, but the thirty-yard line is undeniable. I’m pulled from the hot June day to the brisk chill of an October night. Homecoming confetti dots the length of the cleat-torn field, and the smell of concession-stand cookies mingles with the salty scent of sweat. Andrew and I walk the yard markers like balance beams until we round the corner on the far-side thirty-yard line, and then he kisses me for the very first time.
The memory is so vivid I can almost smell the cookies and sweat, feel the brisk air on my arms. But it’s not that night. We’re not at the beginning. We’re well past the end. I pull out my phone as a distraction. I know what awaits me—a missedcall from Becca, a bucket of texts from Haley begging me to save her from the tedium of Ohio, and zero communication from Andrew. He’s all sweet words and naked rendezvous and then deafening silence until his libido kicks back in. I’m such an idiot.
I open Haley’s novel of messages and read through the texts, her distress and humor brightening my mood. Thank god for roommates who understand. I’m about to respond to one of her many pleas when a shadow falls over me.
Max stands above me, an amused smile playing across his face. “Comfortable down there, Reid?”
I roll my eyes even though they’re covered by sunglasses. It helps me vanquish the uncontrollable urge that cuts across my body whenever Max graces me with a smile, which happens a lot. Because apparently, he’s a happy guy.
“Quite, actually.” I’m pleased to find my voice sounds normal.
He reaches a hand down to help me up. I really don’t want to get up, but I grab his hand and let him pull me to my feet.
“What’s up, Coach?”
“Max,” he says firmly.
“Right. How can I help you, Max?” It’s still weird, but there could be benefits to being on a first-name basis with the hottest guy in town.
He shifts his weight and runs a hand through his hair. Is he nervous? Do I make him nervous? Or am I misreading this and I’m about to be fired? No, that can’t be. I’m literally the only senior staff for all of track and field.
“Do you want to get lunch?” His voice is steady but tentative.
Did he... No, he couldn’t be asking me out on a date. Not directly after Camp Director Larry spent ten minutes talking about the no-dating “suggestion” that no one enforces, specifically because half the staff is already dating. Not tomention Max mistakenly identified me as Andrew’s girlfriend only an hour ago. And he has yet to use my actual name.
“To talk strategy and such,” he adds quickly, and I wonder what my face is doing.
“Strategy,” I repeat wryly.
He nods. “You’re the only senior coach for track. I’m going to need you, Reid.”
Reid.So not a date. A weird feeling washes over me. I’m disappointed. It might’ve been nice to give Andrew some competition. But more than that, I’m overwhelmingly relieved it’s not a date. I really don’t want to explain the Andrew situation.Sorry, I’m currently in a sex-ship with my ex—your former player—so my treacherous best friend can’t get back into his bed, and maybe he’ll realize he does indeed love me. So while I’m single, I’m really not available.How is this my life?
“Can we do this tomorrow?” I ask, thinking of the missed call from Becca. “Or the next day? Or in, like, the thirty minutes before the campers arrive on the first day?”
“Heading out of town until right before camp starts,” he says with a shrug.
“The thirty minutes before the campers arrive on the first day, then?”