Friday
Heather leaned against the window of the bus and watched the palm trees go by. Despite the icy air blasting from the vent above her, the glass was warm from the sun bearing down on it for the better part of three hours on their way to the Sandbar Hotel. At this point she could count the trees down to the end of the long drive to the front lobby of the hotel.
Twenty... nineteen... eighteen...
"'A place to find yourself,'" Coach Mac said from next to her on the seat, throwing off her count. "Seems like a bit of a weird slogan for a hotel? Why would we need to find ourselves? We know where we are, we're at their freaking hotel."
The man was trying way too hard to make a joke, as he had been for most of the bus trip. Mac was far too typical of a coach, a one time second-string football player who hadn't gotten picked up in the draft, had worked odd jobs for two decades, put on weight, then become a gym coach. Even back on the campus his every interaction with her seemed laser-focused on getting into her pants. He'd never said anything untoward to her, he had that going for him at least, but he seemed to not be able to take a hint.
Heather sat up and watched a family of tourists go by on the sidewalk - husband, wife, young daughter. The little girl looked happy as could be, not a care in the world as her vanilla ice cream melted all down her hand. Heather's eyes lingered on the sight before she looked up, over the shoulder of the charter bus driver at the front of the hotel.
It was an older place, one that had been built in the aftermath of the second World War when all beach property was prime real estate. The owners likely had bought this place for a few grand back then - it was worth millions now. The hotel was seven stories, painted a sun-baked pastel pink with white accents. Along the facade of the front were painted two massive marlins, their sword-like snouts thrusting upwards towards the rococo moldings that ran along the roof of the buildings. Despite the oldness of much of the buildings, Heather had been up close with a lot of the glass in the hotel, particularly an employees only area near the top. It was rated for hurricanes, tinted so that no passerby from either the street or the many helicopter tours around here could see in.
Mac gave up on trying to win her over with terrible humor, standing up and bracing himself on the back of the seat. "Alright men, listen up!"
Heather almost laughed. The way Mac treated his boys was some ridiculous drill sergeant bullshit that would never fly with the women's volleyball team that she coached. Then again, keeping twenty young women in line was probably a much different ballgame than forty odd hornball boys.
She looked back over her shoulder as Mac lectured his team. Only about half the players were actually paying attention to him, the remainder staring out the window like she had been, or keeping their heads bowed to tip tap away on their phones. One in particular drew her eye - the first-string quarterback Marquis. He was a handsome young man, strong jaw, dark brown skin, always very quiet and polite during the few times they'd interacted. But she'd seen him play, and he came
alive
when he laced up his cleats and stepped onto the field. She'd once heard an ESPN caster describe his throws as "Howitzer force."
Marquis turned his head in her direction, his dark brown eyes meeting hers. He nodded, then went back to looking out the window. Heather did the same as the bus rolled to a stop.
"You first?" Mac asked her.
She shrugged one shoulder. "This is your show, Mac. Get the boys off, I'll be right behind you."
Technically, on paper, Heather was with the football team as an additional chaperone. Ever since she'd taken an empty spot for a fitness instructors' seminar here a few months prior, she'd jumped at chances to come back here for a myriad of events. Normally she stayed outside of the football sphere, but with the team traveling to play an exhibition game on Saturday, and her having an urgent need to get out of the house for a few days, it had been a no-brainer to call the office and volunteer her services.
The football players filed past her one by one, and it was only when the last of them were off that Heather rose and stepped off the bus. The valets had already unloaded her bags along with the others, and hovering around like vultures, hoping for someone to slip them a couple bucks. She recognized a few - Austin, Vic, Kevin. All three of them had different reactions to her. Austin bit his lip and looked away, Vic pointedly went looking for something else to do the moment he saw her, and Kevin held steady eye contact with her, giving her a single eyebrow waggle before going to help another family unload their minivan. Heather kept her head held high as she dragged her suitcase along behind her.
The lobby was chaotic, a typical summer afternoon as families with kids tried to check in and get their screaming sprogs to the beach. As much as Heather loved her son Dante, she was
so
glad he had been a quiet boy and she hadn't had to keep him on a short leash, as the one frazzled middle-aged mother to her left was literally doing, the strap wrapped around her hand as she checked in, the toddler on the end of it trying desperately to get his mouth on the leafy lobby plants. They hadn't changed the decor much - the flowers on the table in the center of the space got replaced every week, and the columns by the doorway that the bellman used as leaning posts while they waited for luggage to help with remained bar, though Garrett the bellman had told her around Christmas they often wrapped garland around them.
"Kinda crazy in here, isn't it?"
Heather turned her head to see Marquis standing beside her. He could move like a panther apparently, despite wearing the kind of rubber sneakers that usually would squeak on the lobby floor. He'd done up his short dreadlocks with a rubber band behind his head.
"Yeah," Heather said. "It is. But that's late summer for you. Everyone gets one last vacation in."
Marquis laughed. "That's true. Always forget the public kids aren't back yet, when we've been back for weeks now."
"Are you doing alright so far? This is your senior year, right?"
He nodded. "So far, yeah. I got most of my hard classes out of the way last year by design." His fingers tapped the strap of his duffel bag. "Let's me focus on the team this fall and make a good impression on the scouts, you know?"
Heather gave him an approving nod. "Smart."
He beamed at her. "Thank you."
A moment passed between them where they looked at one another, neither saying anything. Heather wondered what the young man saw when he looked at her. Did he see the volleyball coach? The instructor? Or did he see the older woman who was still in very good shape for her late forties, who had intentionally worn a top cut
just
a tad shorter so that everyone could see the line of her cleavage, a bit of freckled overboob saying "look here, look here!", or the fact that she'd worn jeans in ninety degree heat because they lifted up her ass and made it look absolutely delicious?
She knew what others who worked here did, like Justin behind the front desk, who blushed out of reflex and moved to cover the wedding ring on his finger when he took notice of her standing there. They were all still here though, every last one so far, and nobody had been fired, nor had she been banned from the property.
"Heather!" Mac called. "Come here for a second."
