*Being Published in 2022*
❝You can't deny that you're attracted to me, Nyx. Instead of fighting it, let's see what happens,❞ he grumbled, hands roaming my body. His thumb brushed my bottom lip. ❝Open up for me, baby.❞
...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Women just had to do everything, didn't they?
Looked down upon until their help was needed, ignored until they were of service to men. Situations like these were typical in almost every workplace or school environment. Men who believed themselves smarter would scorn the advice of women, take the reins until they eventually tumbled off and needed help with getting back up. They considered us the gentler sex, but men's egos were the most fragile things I'd ever come across. All I did was offer help. And did he accept? Big no. Did he need my help now? Big yes.
My heeled boots clicked against the floor of the foyer as I shoved through the doors leading to the indoor ice rink. A gust of frigid air hit me and I bound my jacket tighter around myself, passing the ice and heading towards the long corridor. The door at the end was my destination, and I mentally readied myself. One interaction with him had already taken a hit to my confidence. But I was back now, and ready to throw his words back in his stupid face. After a few deep breaths, I knocked, entering after I heard the serious voice.
Coach Benson was new to the school, having been hired hastily when the previous coach was forced to quit after his wife had fallen ill. It was a major kick in the gut, especially to the team that was left deserted. I felt bad at first because it was championship season, where Lexington University competed against Ravenwood University for the Grandslam Gauntlet. But I no longer felt bad. All I felt was rage at the man in front of me, a man who walked into his new office with the confidence of a God - and told me no, because I was a girl.
"You asked to see me," I mused, refusing to take a seat when he gestured towards one. Coach Benson was a tall man, and I wasn't an idiot. My height was five feet on a good day when I wasn't slumping in exhaustion. If I were to sit down, Benson would have the upper hand with his long abdomen in his seated position.
My tone was clipped, accentuating that I didn't have time to waste. There were better things to do on a Friday afternoon than stand and listen to someone speak down to you, by a man especially. I'd just finished attending my sociology of sports class when a freshman informed me that Coach Benson wanted a meeting. Well, Benson could choke on his toes for all I cared. But the curious part of me wouldn't let it go.
How lovely it was to watch them crawl back.
The last time we'd spoken, he embarrassed me in front of his new team, the Lexington Hydras. I offered to aid him, seeing as he was in an unfamiliar environment, dealing with skaters he'd never met before, skaters whom I observed for the past year because I attended every game. I had the marketing and sports event management skills that were needed throughout the duration of the championships. I could've helped him slip into his new role as coach. But he took my offer as an insult. Men.
