Page 31 of Making Out With Mermaids (Haven Ever After #6)

CHAPTER TWO - MANORIN

I glance out of the window in my first floor office, admiring how peaceful and quiet the skyball field looks this early in the morning. In a half hour, the perfectly manicured field will be bustling with the Protector Academy and pro skyball teams—intramurals start today.

A reminder pings from the blue leather watch strapped around my wrist. I’ve got an important call starting in two minutes. I’ve been working at my computer for hours, planning the primary and secondary lineups for the upcoming season, and my back hurts from hunching so far over the desk. Standing, I roll my broad shoulders, grimacing at how my long horns scrape the ceiling if I stand up too straight.

This office wasn’t made for a minotaur of my size, much less a longhorn minotaur. I’ve been the head coach of the Hearth HQ Hellions for a very long time. The coach before me was a gargoyle.

A lot shorter.

And a lot less strict with his players, if the old stories are to be believed.

I probably should’ve had the office renovated, but it never seemed to be top of mind.

The Hearth HQ skyball team was a damn mess when I got hired, but I’ve whipped them into shape over the last two centuries. Many seasons’ worth of players have come and gone during that time, but I’ve turned out a solid string of superstars, many of whom have gone on to have long, illustrious pro careers. Glancing out the door of my office, I smile at the paintings of famous skyball players lining the hallway. Ninety percent of those were cultivated during my tenure here.

I smile bigger as I consider that. A ping breaks through the thought, the communication disk on my wall flashing blue. A name hologram rises above the tech’s circular surface.

Ever Keeper.

Of course, I always knew him as Arkan Canterbury, a centaur who was a star player while studying at the academy. Now he goes by his title—Keeper—of the monster haven of Ever, in America.

Massachusetts state, I think.

I grab the comm disk and set it carefully on my desk, directing it to answer Arkan’s call.

A life-sized hologram figure rises up from the disk, and my former player smiles, the grin splitting his handsome dark features.

I cross my arms over my chest. “You don’t look a day older, Arkan. Or should I say “Keeper”?”

He waves away the comment. “The Evertons call me both. It was hard for me to give up my name for the title, even though that’s traditional for a keeper.”

I consider that for a moment. I could no sooner give up the Longhorn name than chop off an arm. It’s a point of pride for other longhorn minotaurs to cherish our shared last name.

“So,” Arkan says, “I’ll get straight to the point. I wanted to recruit you in my last haven, but it wasn’t the right time for that community or you. I’m pretty sure you know why I’m calling this time, and you took the call, so what’s changed?”

I suck at my teeth as I think about his question. What has changed in the decades since Arkan last tried to steal me from my position as head coach?

“To be honest,” I begin, “I’ve accomplished a lot for the Hellions. I’ve run this program for almost two hundred years. My brain keeps going into build mode, but the Hellions program is a well-oiled machine at this point.” I shrug and glance out the window at the skyball pitch again. After a moment, I return my focus to the black-coated centaur male. “I’m looking for something messy that I can fix up and make shine.”

Arkan grins and crosses his arms, matching my stance. “Well, Coach, it just so happens that the Ever team is messy as hells, full of part-timers with no coach at all . In fact, one of my players threatened to quit last night if I made him attend a practice. The team made it all the way to the finals last year, as you know, despite that. But there’s zero recruiting and literally no program to speak of. We have an empty stadium that I don’t think anyone’s set foot in since the finals. Ever wouldn’t be something messy, it would be starting from the basement and working from the ground up. How does that sound?”

Part of me aches as he talks. That’s exactly what I want. But another part of me longs for the open ranges and clear skies of my home haven, Pine Gulch. My dream job would take me there. Unfortunately for me, the Pine Gulch coach has held his role for six centuries with no signs of slowing down. I don’t think that job’ll ever open up, not unless the gods and goddesses themselves descend to drag Rip Shorthorn outta that job.

“I need more information.” I uncross my arms and tuck my hands into the pockets of my too-tight jeans. “I’m interested, though. What’s your evaluation process look like? Who else are you looking at? What are your next steps?”

Arkan grins. “I hoped you’d say that, Manorin. I’m also looking at a younger coach from a remote haven in Brazil…Gil Stoneswallow. As for eval, I’d like you to come here for a trial period once your intramurals end and before the season starts. He’ll be doing the same thing, although you won’t overlap. You’ve got a couple weeks off coming up, if memory serves?” He winks. I may technically have that time off, but he knows I’ve never taken it once in my entire career.

“I’ll manage,” I grit out. This is important. It’s time for me to consider moving on.

“I’ll start making arrangements,” Arkan says with a huge smile. “Would you prefer to stay at our local wraith motel or up at the Annabelle Inn? The inn’s closer to downtown and the skyball stadium. The wraith motel is like most others—opulent beyond belief with an incredible kitchen.”

A smile turns my lips upward, the ring in my nose shimmying. “Catherine Evrien still run the Annabelle Inn?”

Arkan returns my feral look. “She does.”

“Book me there, then. She and I are old friends.”

Friends isn’t the right word, but I don’t need to get into that with Arkan.

“Done,” Arkan says. “I’ll email you later with all the details. I’m crazy excited about this, Manorin. I’ve got the one other candidate because I promised the haven leadership team that I’d do my due diligence. But the reality is that if you’ll have us, I want you for Ever.”

“You always were my favorite, but don’t be a suckup,” I say with a snort.

He beams and tosses long black braids over his shoulder. “My mate is calling me for dinner, but I’ll email those details soon. Goodbye, old friend.”

I swat at his hologram and he ducks out of the way. “It’s still Coach to you, kid.”

He laughs and signs off.

For a long time after he’s gone, I stare at the communication disk. Eventually, I set it back on the wall as I consider our conversation.Am I really pursuing this? A team with no coach and no program to speak of? It’s a dream come true, something I haven’t done yet. The Hellions were a mess when I took them over, but there was the semblance of a program and there was a head coach before me, even if he was shitty.

Ever’s a blank slate, and I love that for me.

Voices drift up the hall, followed by the thwap of wings and clipclop of hooves. The academy players are arriving for practice. Turning to the locker in my office, I unbutton my shirt along one shoulder and down one side so I can pull it off without yanking it up over my horns. I toss it aside and check out my reflection in the mirror. I might be approaching my eighth century—minotaurs are long-lived—but I’m still built like most of my players. The only hint that I’m older is a bit of salt dusting the oaky brown fur at my temples.

I grab a Hellions tee and button it over my broad chest. Kicking my way out of my jeans, I grab a pair of red and black athletic shorts. When I pull them up, they hug my thighs and sack, accentuating the bulge between my legs. I used to think it was ridiculous that athletic shorts aren’t made in sizes that fit athletes. Then I realized that’s on purpose.

The industry wants to tease its fans and onlookers with our bodies. Hot players in tight shirts and dick-hugging shorts are what the fans want. Cock outlines sell tickets. Actual erections are even better.

Adjusting my sack around the tight fabric, I mutter about the shorts issue and grab my whistle. I unclip it and reclip it around my neck. I’m so broad it barely hangs down into the hollow at the base of my throat. Maybe it’s time for a longer string.

When I leave my office a shorthorn minotaur jogs up the hallway and stops in front of me with a big smile. “You ready for intramurals, coach? We’re gonna kick some ass out there today!”

“Hells yeah we are,” I say, my tone pure gravel. “Those pro assholes won’t know what hit ‘em, right player?” It’s all bluster, I coach both Hearth’s academy and pro teams, but we’re split right now to prep for intramurals.

“Fuck yes,” he hisses, clapping me on the shoulder. “I’m ready, Coach.”

Good. I am too.

Ready to kick ass, take names, and maybe start something new.

* * *

T he following Wednesday morning, I walk across the new Grand Portal Station, locating the glowing green portal that’ll take me from Hearth HQ to Ever, all the way across the world. To the left of the Ever portal is a fabulous coffee shop called Higher Grounds. I consider stopping in for a latte, but it’s actually their second location. The original is in downtown Ever.

I’d like to try the location I’d regularly go to, if this move works out. Smiling, I sling my duffel bag over my shoulder and step through the portal into a short hallway filled with luminescent green light. When I reach the end, the portal opens into Ever’s portal station, a cavernous tiled room with a view of the forest beyond.

My goal for today is to get to the stadium as quickly as possible. I’m due to meet Arkan there in an hour, but I’d like to see it alone first…without outside perspective. It’s Arkan’s job to sell me on this monster haven and the position, but I like to form my own opinions irrespective of the sales pitch.

As I stalk across the big open portal station building toward the door, whispers follow me. My size is enough to garner attention on a good day, but couple that with my reputation as a skyball coach and you’ve got a recipe for lots of attention.

Not that I mind. I live for the attention. But I told no one at HQ about this trip and I don’t plan to make a big fuss out of my presence here. For all the Evertons know, I’m here on vacation for now.

Grinning, I sail through the door and into a beautifully forested area. A singular road leads toward the main drag, according to the map I studied before my trip. It’s crisp here. Ever’s one of a few havens with the same weather pattern year round. I’m sure on the one hand that’s nice, but it makes me think of how Pine Gulch simply follows Montana’s natural weather patterns. I fucking love the snow there.

It’s a quarter hour walk through beautiful quiet forest to downtown Ever. The first business I see apart from a doctor’s cottage is the original Higher Grounds location, a two story brick thing with a cute red and white striped awning. I’m desperate for a latte, so I stop in. It’s packed full on the inside, coffee dripping and popping and machines sputtering as the vampires behind the bar craft their famous monster-specific concoctions.

It takes nearly another quarter hour to order, and a few minutes after that to get my simple order. Twenty minutes to get a coffee is absurd.

Arkan mentioned that Ever’s growing, and it’s easy to see it’s true. The vampires behind the counter hustled the entire time I was there…it’s just crazy busy here. Hearth HQ has faced similar growing pains since the portal station opened, although not to the degree of other havens.

I consider the line out the door a good sign, actually. Smaller havens don’t usually opt into the skyball program because it requires a certain amount of investment, and Ever’s on the smaller size for a monster haven. Growth brings money and money makes developing a skyball program a whole lot easier.

Heading for the door, I take my first sip of the Azuro dark roast and groan in satisfaction. There’s nothing like Azuro coffee beans and these are roasted to perfection. Even though the shop’s busy, whispers follow me here, too. A few furtive glances and finger points later and I’m pretty sure I’m gonna end up signing at least one autograph before I get out the door.

Coffee in one hand and my bag in the other, I shoulder my way out of the shop without being stopped and head up the cross street, Sycamore, toward the skyball stadium. The Community Garden is on my left as I walk, and Catherine’s beautiful Annabelle Inn sits across from it.

The Annabelle’s pink siding and ornate gingerbread trim make me think of my old flame, Catherine, its owner. Memories from my younger years flood back. She and I dated pretty seriously for a while. It came to an unfortunate end—she was the one who got away—but it’s been a long time since that.

Catherine was the hottest sex of my life, if I’m honest, and I’ve taken plenty of lovers since then.

My cock hardens in my sheath, threatening to make an inappropriate display as I rein in my errant thoughts. Now isn’t the time to think about the succubus who stole my heart and shattered it when she left. No, that was a long time ago.

I sip my latte as I continue up Sycamore and past rows of adorable cottages. Ever really is quaint to the max—a polar opposite of the cold, dark, and snowy haven that’s been my home these last few centuries.

Rounding a corner, I find the skyball stadium off in the distance across a giant field. I’m guessing the field is for parking. Ever hosted the skyball finals last year, but hasn’t hosted a game since. As I walk across the field, it’s clear that no one has parked here in a long time…grass grows in the tire tracks. It’s a missed opportunity. Hosted games mean money and advertising, both of which are good for local businesses, assuming the haven wants to grow.

Of course, not every haven wants that. Many of them don’t even have a skyball team. There are twenty-four teams at this point, though, so a solid half of the monster haven system has opted into the skyball program. But again, it takes money and commitment from haven leadership to produce a skyball program that’s any good. Not to mention the haven itself has to be well designed to attract and keep star players.

That could be a problem in Ever. The downtown’s pretty small and there aren’t a ton of businesses to accommodate a growing population of monsters.

The stadium soars high above me, all dark stone with giant curved archway entries every twenty feet or so. Green and gold flags announce the home team as the Ever Misfits. I leave my bag by one of the doors and head into the stadium’s interior.

It’s brand new, built last year for the finals. It’s got a troll’s touch in the way the stone seems hewn directly out of a mountainside. I’d wager a troll worked with this haven’s former Keeper to build this place. I run my fingers along the beautiful stone as I walk around the outer hallway where most of the concessions usually are.

By the time I reach the far side, I’ve got to give it to this stadium’s designer. It’s gorgeous and well thought out. There’s plenty of access to the concession locations and the hallway itself is nice and wide and tall—which is important for winged monsters who often prefer to fly versus walk.

The clipclop of hooves announces Arkan’s arrival. I turn to find the tall centaur walking up the hallway toward me. He grins as he reaches a hand out to shake mine.

His colorful shirt catches my eye.

I squint to read it, then snort with laughter as I shake his hand.

He grabs at the shirt and holds the fabric wide as if to help me see it better. “‘ I’m a Fucking Delight’. Wren Hector, our resident green witch, gave this to me and said it suited my cheerful disposition.” He winks. “Imagine if she’d have met me before I became Ever’s Keeper.”

My smile goes softer at that. It’s well known that the haven Keeper training strips keepers of most of their emotion, leaving them with an intense focus on rational, logical thought processes to help them make decisions more effectively. Despite that formal training for his role, Arkan’s always remained more sunny and positive than the average monster.

“So,” he continues, waving at the stadium around us, “this is the stadium. It was built last year by Ohken Stonesmith and the former Keeper, both of whom are casual players on the team. I was planning to give you a tour, but you’ve seen this much of it. Let’s take a peek at the war room and locker rooms and what would be your office.” He nudges me in the side. “It’s extra tall. Your horns won’t even hit the ceiling. That would be a nice change, eh?”

I snort in agreement and he continues on.

“I’ve got the team coming to meet us in half an hour. You mentioned wanting to see a short practice, and they’re excited to meet you.”

“Lead the way, kid.”

He snorts and swishes his tail at me. “Not a kid anymore. Not hardly.”

I shrug. “You’ll always be a snarky, better than he should be for the effort he puts in player to me.”

Arkan laughs. “I’ll admit I was distracted on the best of days. I pulled through during the games, thank fuck.”

We share a laugh at that, walking toward one end of the stadium. Arkan badges us into a private hallway that leads to the first locker room.

And it…is…amazing.

One entire wall is one-way glass, allowing the players to see the field without ticketholders seeing in. The view is incredible, the entire field visible from inside. The war room’s even better, sitting at ground level but with a crazy screen showing the entire field from above. It’s ideally suited for the type of planning I like to do.

Of course, Arkan already knows this. I suspect this part of the war room is an addition meant to entice me.

And it fucking does.

What doesn’t thrill me is half an hour later when I meet the team. I know most of them—it’s my job to know even those players who aren’t full time—but there’s not a single monster on this team who’s full time or even wants to be. Not only that, but a vast majority of them seem almost skeptical about having me here for a trial period.

I plant both hands on my hips as I stare at the row of centaurs, gargoyles, and a big green troll who eyes me with his arms crossed.

The only one who looks excited to be here is Hana Canterbury, Arkan’s beautiful centaur mate. She was a kickass player at the academy, too. She didn’t go pro but she could have. My wheels start spinning, wondering if it’s possible to get her to consider full time now. I’m not sure how much extra responsibility she takes on as the Keeper’s mate.

“I’d like to see what you’re capable of.” I count the players out. “Split into two teams and let’s play a quarter. Even though most of you aren’t full timers, you’re what I’d have to work with in the beginning. Let’s see what you’re made of.”

Arkan stands by my side as a few muttered grumblings reach us. I glance up at him.

“This whole team needs to be rebuilt.”

Arkan frowns, sucking at his teeth. “I did tell you we didn’t have any pros, Manorin. I was serious.”

I match his expression, lifting my whistle and biting it between my teeth.

Arkan holds a skyball under one arm. Cantering to the center of the field, he winks at his wife before tossing the skyball in the air. The flurry of activity happens fast, the bridge troll executing a perfect flip as he snatches the ball off the ground.

Damnit, he’s good and of course he doesn’t want to be full time.

As I watch the team play, it’s clear there’s a lot of talent despite the fact that, to my amazement, they haven’t practiced since last year’s skyball finals. I decide right then and there not to bother with any other practices while I’m here. There’s no point to piss off the locals considering not a one of them would remain on the team if I get this job and accept it.

One thing is clear—building a skyball program in Ever would be a ton of fucking work.