Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
By then, we know there’s a chance we’ve lost her.
It’s a horrible, twisting feeling. Part of us wanted to just book out of that fucking game and steal a goddamn car if we had to get back to her. But the other part of us knows that coach is right. Leaving would let down a whole team of guys who’ve worked their asses off to get here. And so, we stayed, and we played, and we turned that anger and rage at ourselves for walking away from Zara into goddamn jet fuel to use on the field. And fuck me did it work.
But now, here we are, panting and sweaty and aching all over—still in uniforms as we dash down the underground hallway to the girls’ dorm. We crash out into the storage room, and then go barreling out into the laundry room. There’s a gasp and a shriek, and we pause long enough to blink as we realize we’ve almost gone crashing right into Waverly Owens.
…As in, Vice Principal Ownens’ daughter, Waverly Owens.
She’s alone, but I blink, because seconds before we crashed in, I could have sworn I heard her talking to someone. But right now, it’s just her, laundry basket in hand.
“Uh… fuck,” Griff mutters.
Waverly swallows, her face pale, but she forces a smile to her face.
“Aren’t you…” she arches a brow. “Aren’t you supposed to be at a football game?”
“It’s over,” Anders rushes out. “We won.”
“Oh, uh, great? Congrats?” She clears her throat, and I frown, glancing around. I could have sworn I heard multiple voices.
“We, uh, we need to go,” I growl.
“You know this is the girls’ dorm, right?”
None of us say anything, and she shakes her head.
“Right, of course you do. And who exactly are the lucky girls who get frantic-looking, grungy and sweaty football jocks coming to sweet talk them at the stroke of curfew?”
She’s trying to be funny, but we don’t have time for this. In fact, I know the only reason we’re still standing here is because this is the damn Vice Principal’s daughter. I don’t think Waverly Owens is a tattletale, but who knows.
“Waverly,” Anders growls lowly. “We’re, uh, we’re kind of in a hurry.” His jaw tightens. “Look, your mom…”
He trials off, and when his gaze drops to the floor, Griff and I’s follow. There, sitting on the floor with Waverly desperately trying to stand in front of it, is an official Winchester Academy men’s swim team duffle bag.
Well this just got interesting.
Waverly swallows, her face paling as her eyes dart between us all.
“What if,” she says slowly, her tone measured. “What if you go where you’re going, I don’t say a word, and we all just forget we even saw each other down here?” She smiles weakly. “I don’t think my mother needs to know about, well, any of this.”
“I think that’s a fantastic idea,” Griff growls. He grins as he nods his chin at the duffle bag. “Anyone we know?”
“You want me asking the same question?” she throws back, flicking her long auburn hair over her shoulder.
Griff chuckles. “I think we can agree to this agreement.”
Waverly swallows. “Excellent.” She shrugs and smiles bashfully. “Uh, as you were?”
“Thanks, Waverly,” I smile, nodding at her as Griff and Anders turn to book it out of the laundry room. I follow them until we get to the old maintenance closet down here and the secret, boarded-up staircase in the back of it. We take the stairs three at a time until we go stumbling out onto Zara’s floor.
We storm right for her door, headless of the two other girls in the hallway staring at us, or the third run shrieking as she yanks her bath towel around herself. I pound hard on Zara’s door.
“Zara!” I bellow. “Zara! It’s us! We need to—”
“Go away!” She screams, and fuck does my heart break a little just hearing it.
“Zara,” Anders groans, dropping his forehead to her door. “Baby, please, you have to let us explain—”
“Go the fuck away!” She throws back.
“Goddamnit,” Griff hisses. “Zara, just let us—”
The door suddenly flies open, and all three of us take a step back, our hearts breaking. Zara looks furious—enraged, hurt, and coming apart at the seams as she glares at us, tears in her eyes.
“There’s nothing to explain! We were supposed to…” She blinks, a tear running down her cheek. Anders moves to put his hand to her face to wipe it away, but she sneers, slapping his hand away.
“No!” she spits. “You left me! You let me go out there alone!”
“Baby,” I groan, my jaw tight and my heart ripping in two. “It’s not what you think.”
“Yeah,” she hisses through clenched teeth. “Yeah, I think it’s exactly what I think it is. Got what you all wanted, huh?”
Anders’s face darkens. “Fuck, Zara, you know that’s not—”
“We won, by the way,” she hisses. She reaches behind her and suddenly hurls a big blue ribbon at my chest. “If any of you even give a shit, we won. Well, I won.”