Coach's Daughter

20

"So you think you can like," Braxton scratches the back of his neck, "put in a good word or just like mention me to her?"

"Braxton, no offense, but I don't think she likes you," It tell him as gently as possible.

"You don't know that."

Oh yes I do.

"Just try. It can't hurt to just try," he begs me.

"Okay, fine," I give in, "I'll ask her what she thinks about you." I already know exactly what she thinks about him.

"Thank you! You're so real for this. Helping a bro out," he says trying to pull me into a man hug but I cringe away, immediately regretting giving into him. Geez, and I thought I was delusional.

"Can I go back to my room now?" I ask him sarcastically as I walk away.

Paige is in the shower and I wait on her in my room patiently. Actually, not patiently. It feels like she's been in there forever. I stare at her nike backpack that she brought a change of clothes in laying on my floor, looking so out of place in my feminine room.
But nothing about her in her basketball shorts and a UCONN t shirt, stretched out on the plush pink comforter of my bed looks out of place. It's like she belongs there. Here. With me. But I remind myself we don't belong together. We can't. We weren't supposed to happen. My dad would never allow it.

I hear the shower turn off and I get butterflies. I wonder if she washed her hair? I hope not. Wet hair might get in the way of my, you know... plans.

Getting in the shower with her did cross my mind, but I couldn't work up the nerve. The thought of her naked in my shower lingered in my mind. I wondered exactly what she looked like. What was left to my imagination killed me. She wore sports bras all the time and always dressed in unrevealing clothing. She's worn crop tops before and I've seen her in a sports bra, but I don't know the last time her upper thighs have seen the sun. Probably in the summer if she went the pool or beach. God, I would kill to see her in a bikini. I'm dying to know what the full length of her legs looks like. It makes me almost regret every time I've worn something revealing or on the "skimpy" side. I want her to be wondering almost frustrated about what I look like. I want to save it all for her.

There's the sound of my door opening and my stomach drops when I see Paige coming in, only wrapped in a towel. If this is too much for me to handle, I don't know if I am going to follow through with my plans. She looks different. More feminine, I guess, the white towel wrapped around her like a mini dress. Her hair isn't wet, instead it's messily tied back in a low bun. Her skin visibly damp, glowing in the dim lamplight of my room. She shuts the door behind her and I feel like I can't breath. What? Did I think she was just going to bring her clothes with her in the bathroom? Oh shit. That means she has to get dressed. In here. Right now. The towel is going to come off. Why do I actually feel like I'm going to be sick?

She gets her backpack off the floor and I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. I don't know what to do. I have to say something. Anything. I can't just sit here and stare like a weirdo. I could tell her to not get dressed. Get up, stand in front of her and ask her if I can pull the towel off her body. Let myself see and touch everything I've been dreaming of seeing and touching. Tell her how beautiful and perfect she is.

"I-" my voice comes out small shaky, "I can leave for a sec. So you can change."

Paige laughs lightly, "It's fine," she smiles at me as if I'm the goofiest person alive, "we're both girls." She says it almost sarcastically.

"Okay," I breath and turn to lay on my stomach, facing the head board of my bed, pretending to be occupied by my phone. Yeah, we're both also lesbians, I think to myself, who like each other.