Ghosts that Watch Us

6

Sean watched him go, long legs carrying him across the soggy pitch, watched that tight little ass of his move in those trousers, also tight. Everything tight. The man needed to loosen up. But what Ellory told him about Chase didn’t sit well with Sean. Sean knew that Chase had some intimidating anger on the field, and of course the boy had a tendency to slack off in his academics – a fair amount of college athletes did – but as far as Sean was aware Chase had never threatened anyone else. Perhaps because the other professors were more understanding than Dr. Grumpy Face. Sean’s head ticked through the options.

He went to stand with the other coaches and blew his whistle, calling the scrimmage to a halt. “Take over for me, guys,” he told his assistant coaches. “Chase! Come on in!”

The boy jogged over and Sean threw an arm around his shoulders, leading him away from where the guys started running drills with the players. “You didn’t tell me you’d gone to see your art history professor this week.”

Chase frowned, sweat sliding over his full brows, dripping past his nose. He wiped it away with a rough hand. “What about it, coach? The guy’s a hard ass. Hasn’t wanted to speak to me since school started. He needed to understand that I might be late with some of my work.”

“I know. And I get that. But there are ways to handle this. He’s tougher than the other professors, so you can’t approach him the same way. We’ll get your academics squared away, don’t worry. What I’m concerned with is what you did and said when you finally spoke with him.”

Chase turned startled eyes on him. “What did I do, coach? I didn’t do anything!”

“Come on now. You can’t put your hands on a teacher, Chase. We all know this. You tapped his chest with a finger and he can easily report you for that.”

“But—!”

“It seems he came to me first, lucky for you,” Sean continued. “And you called his assistant a b***h. What the hell, man. You can’t go around calling women bitches. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Chase crossed his arms and stepped away from Sean, furious eyes on some far away distance. “She was bugging me.”

Sean bent back and laughed. “Listen, kid. Get used to it. She was doing her job and you didn’t like what she had to say. Tough s**t. You can’t call her a b***h for that.” He took Chase’s shoulder and peered into his eyes, all laughter gone. “I don’t want to hear about another incident like this one. I’ll see what I can do about your schoolwork. But don’t approach the professor or his assistant again. Or you’ll have me to deal with. I want forty laps before practice is over.”

The boy’s face fell open in disbelief. “But coach! What about scrimmage? I’m playing midfield—”

Sean cut him a hard glance. “Now.”

Chase’s shoulders slumped, jaw tight in forced defeat. “Yes, sir.”

Off he went, dropping his gear at the benches and starting his laps at the corner of the pitch. Squinting his eyes, Sean stared up at where Ellory had vanished over the top of the hill, hoping he might still catch a glimpse of his blond curls, the long slope of his shoulder, a cheekbone. But then he shook himself out of it, remembering how Ellory had slipped right under Sean and stolen the cottage that should have been rightfully his.

And it wasn’t really about the cottage, at least not entirely. It had stung, yes, because the cottage was nice and it was quiet and it had been part of Sean’s contract with the college, but the university had compensated Sean with a higher salary for taking the professor’s old apartment. What really bothered Sean was how cold the man always was toward him, how cutting his demeanor. Ellory had snuck in and meddled with the cottage, no doubt batting those pretty blond lashes, murmuring words low and sweet to get his way, chumming around with all the other dry academics that made up the majority of the administration--and for what? Because Sean’s status as a coach meant he was below Ellory somehow?

Maybe Sean hadn’t meant for the teasing and the jokes to get so far out of hand, but he couldn’t help it if the professor made for such good sport, all the angry blushing and pretentious ire, taking offense at nearly everything Sean said or did. He liked the rise he got out of the professor, looking forward to when he saw him next, ready to bear the brunt of the next haughty quip the professor threw his way, as if Sean’s existence was the bane of his own, no matter their position at the college. Maybe the professor didn’t know that Sean knew about the cottage, but if it boiled down to anything, Sean couldn’t just let someone like that get away with thinking they could have what they wanted when they wanted it. If Ellory wanted competition, Sean could give it.

Or maybe there was something curious about the professor that called Sean’s own bluff, something that made him innately interesting, deep down under all that pomp and posh mien. It aggravated Sean to no end to know that he always ended up seeking the professor out, just to antagonize him. He didn’t know what kept him coming back.

Popping his gum loudly, Sean marched back to the company of the other coaches, watching as Chase circled the pitch for yet another lap. He didn’t like that the boy had taken matters into his own hands, had confronted Ellory about his coursework, had touched him.

If anything, the professor was his to torment and no one else’s.