J—

I wipe under my eyes with my fingers, removing any excess eyeliner that's not where it's supposed to be. I check my makeup one more time in the rear view mirror before getting out of the car. Make-up's neat. Hair's in place. I'm good to go.

I walk into the middle school at a brisk pace. I hope the meet didn't start yet. I'm here to support my son, I repeat over and over on the walk inside. I am. This seems to be the only way Mashiho and I can connect. He's pretty much shut me out of everything else in his life. School. Friends. Girls.

Our conversations consist of me asking questions and him giving one word answers about any of these subjects. Wrestling though, he'll expand.

Mashiho talks about moves and take downs I never heard of. Tells me how Coach Manoban has them run a mile at the beginning and end of practice. Whoever finishes the mile first is guaranteed a match at the next meet.

The woman has my son motivated if nothing else. I like that. What I don't like is that my heart does a tiny blip every time I hear Coach Manoban's name. Nothing crazy. Just a small temporary spike in pace. It's ridiculous because not only is she a teacher at my son's school, and Mashiho's wrestling coach, she's a woman and she's much younger than me. Much, much younger.

I sit near two of the moms whose faces I recognize from years of attending back-to-school nights and school activities. We exchange smiles. I notice one of the mothers, Rosé, looks good. Very good. She's wearing tight jeans and a shirt that shows off enough cleavage for whispers to follow behind her, but not low enough to be deemed inappropriate to wear at this sort of function. Her blonde hair is blown straight as a pin, and her make up looks as if it's been airbrushed on.

The other mom, Jisoo is dressed a lot more casually, in a pair of yoga pants and a long shirt. Her hair is up in a ponytail, and her face is clear, devoid of any make-up.

"I swear, I'd give up manicures for a year to spend one night with her," Rosé leans over and whispers to Jisoo. "I mean, look at that ass. It's so fucking tight. Did you hear the rumors saying that she has something between her legs? I bet she's big. Thick where it counts. I want to lick every part of her."

And I want to throw up.

Jisoo looks around to make sure no one overheard the inappropriate remark. But I did. And I don't like it. I know who they're talking about, and she shouldn't be having those kinds of thoughts, let alone verbalize them.

Far too annoyed over this woman's obvious lust for Ms. Manoban, I turn from her and glance at the target of her desire. What annoys me more is that in her loose fitting jogging pants and the way her too tight t-shirt pulls across her chest, she's stirring up the same dark desires in me that she's encouraging in Rosé. At least she's brave enough to own them. Me, I'll keep them hidden.

Ms. Manoban walks down the line, from one boy to the next, giving each a few words and a pat on the shoulder. She takes a little longer with Mashiho than she did with the other boys. I smile, appreciative of the extra attention she's showing my son.

Mashiho's been responding to it, too. He isn't talking much to me, but his body language seems more upbeat. He's standing taller and seems more confident. Thankfully, I haven't had any further calls from Mr. Butler. I can only think Ms. Manoban is working some sort of magic on my son.

As if she knows what I'm thinking, or that my eyes are glued to her, Ms. Manoban looks up and meets my stare. I'm caught. I feel my face heat and fill with color. Shit, I'm probably redder than Rosé's lipstick.

I play it cool, look away and twirl a strand of brown hair around my pointer finger. Not knowing what else to do, I look over at the timer on the wall. Like I really care about the countdown until the start of the match.

I shouldn't feel so awkward, so self-conscious. After all, she's speaking to my son. I'm a single mom. It's my responsibility to make sure there's nothing unsavory going on. Not that I think there is, but I have every right to pay attention to the interaction and make sure it's appropriate.

While this is all true, I know none of it is why I'm unnerved. I can't fool myself into believing these excuses are why my stomach tumbles, and I'm finding it hard to swallow. Shit. This is like high school all over again.

I try to brave another glance at Ms. Hotness. When my eyes land on her, they find her staring back. Dark green eyes. Rough and tumultuous, like the ocean after a storm. Fuck I made a spectacle of myself and she noticed. And now she's pissed. I wonder who else noticed.

I look at the other parents around me. If anyone caught this interaction, no one is letting on. Especially not Jisoo and Rosé. Thank goodness.

I can only imagine what she'll say to me after the meet. "I must say, Mrs. Kim, while I'm used to stares from the twelve year old girls I teach, I'm not used to them coming from my students' mothers."

Fuck this is so bad. I hold my head, using my hands to shield my eyes like a set of blinders as I stare down at the ground. God, I don't want to see the look on her face and if I don't keep my eyes blocked, I'll end up looking at her again.

I want to die. I better rush out and wait for my son in the parking lot when the meet ends. But not before I watch Mashiho.

As the event starts, I keep my eyes trained on the mats in front of me where the matches take place. As much as I try not to look away from there, I can't help myself. My eyes travel to my son. He looks happy standing on the side lines cheering for his team mates.

I'm not sure where we are in the meet but the lightweights have all finished. The boys in the last two matches look to be around my son's weight. Mashiho heads out to the center of the mat. The round starts and his opponent lunges for my son. Mashiho avoids him.

This is already an improvement from his very first match where he was slammed down and pinned with in the first twenty seconds. I'm sitting at the edge of the bleacher seat cheering my son on for avoiding being brought down, as if he's about to win a national title.

The first round ends. He made it without letting his opponent score. It's a small win, but it's a start.

The second round is more of the first with the other boy going aggressively at my son. He brings Mashiho down to the mat this time and scores points but my boy scrambles and gets right back up.

I'm on my feet at the start of the third and final round. Mashiho never made it this far before. He still hasn't scored any points, but he's holding his own, and that's a huge improvement. Talk about your proud mama moments.

The match ends with the buzzing of the timer. The referee raises the other boy's hand signaling to the onlookers that he's the winner, but for me, the fact that Mashiho went three full rounds and lost on points is a major win.

Mashiho runs off the mat making room for the next set of challengers. My eyes follow him straight to Ms. Manoban. The two share a celebratory high five. I can't help the smile on my lips as Ms. Manoban ruffles my son's hair. Nor can I help my eyes from lingering on the woman as Mashiho runs off to join the rest of the boys on the sideline.

I'm not prepared for the ear to ear smile on the coach's face when her eyes meet mine, or the heavy pounding in my chest at the wink of her eye. I think it's directed at me. At least I hope it is.

It can't be. I'm projecting my secret wish on her, that's all. But she's looking directly at me.

I take a quick look around before my eyes meet hers again. Ms. Manoban's smile widens as our eyes lock on each other once more. My stomach tumbles and swirls then tumbles again. Before I completely unravel like a teenager with her first crush, Ms. Manoban turns her attention back to the mat and the boys wrestling in front of her.

The spell Ms. Manoban had me under is broken. I take a deep breath. It's the first step in slowing down my fluttering heart. I keep my eyes on what's happening directly in front of me for as long as I can, which isn't long enough.

I feel the heavy weight of prodding eyes on me. I chance a quick glance over at Jisoo and Rosé who glare at me open mouthed. Shit. They must have caught that little exchange.

It's not like I did anything wrong. Ms. Manoban was just proud of Mashiho, the same way I am. That's all it was. A mutual show of pride and respect.