The showers in the locker room still steamed from the team who had just rinsed off. I didn't go; I stood watching Coach Harlan order my team members like the alpha he was.
He was 42, with an athletic body, his thighs thick from years of playing. His deep voice always got me during the games.
Tonight, after scoring the winning goal, I wanted more than just “Good job.”
I saw him heading to the coaches' bathroom close to the field house, with a towel on his shoulders. I knew what that meant. I followed quietly, slipping in just in time before the door clicked shut. He turned, surprised to see me, and then his eyes took in my cheer uniform, my short skirt flipping up as I locked the door.
“Whatcha doing here, kid?” he asked, but his gaze dropped to my legs for a while. I closed the spac
