Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 48601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
“The girl’s meets, yeah,” he mutters. “But the guy’s team is struggling this year.” He sighs. “Jamison, I mean look at you. You’re in great condition, and I know you’re pulling laps at home all the damn time.”
I frown. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Ramona.”
I nod quietly and he sighs. “Alright, fuck, sorry. I already told you I was done trying to pitch you. Just think about it, alright? I mean some sports shit never hurts on a college resumé.”
“Seems to be the theme of the fucking day,” I grumble before I sigh. “Look, Coach, what do you need?”
He grins. “Alright, I’m done. I promise.” He nods at the pool, and for the first time, I notice the pool cover cables hanging down into the pool, attached to what looks like the cover winch, submerged.
I frown.
“How does that even happen? Mechanical failure?”
Coach Kirby’s jaw tightens as he rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, mechanical failure spelled ‘douchebag football dickheads fucking around’.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Yeah, that’s a dick move. What do you need?”
“It’s tied to some fucking barbell weights down there. Think you can pull it out if I go down there and cut it free?”
I nod. “Yeah, sure.”
“Thanks, Jamison.”
Coach Kirby walks over to the edge of the pool and yanks his shirt off, tossing it away. The dude is in ridiculous shape. I mean, he’s young for a faculty member at Winchester, but he’s not that young. Maybe late twenties? Thirty maybe? Either way, the years of being an Olympic-level swimmer have the guy fucking ripped in a way most of the jocks at this school, and even just casual fitness lifters like me would be and are envious of. But it’s when my eyes land on his back—not at the big tattoo there, but at the fucking claw marks—that my brows go up.
“Jesus, man.”
He pauses, turning to me with a questioning look.
“What’s up?”
“Did you fight a fucking tiger or something?”
He frowns. “Jamison, what are you talking about?”
I grin. “Your back, Coach. Looks like you got freaking mauled.”
His face reddens, his eyes darting around as I chuckle.
“Hey, just saying ‘nice work,’ Coach,” I chuckle. “Seeing her again or do you need a rabies shot firs—”
“Let’s leave my personal life for outside of school, huh, Jamison?”
My brow arches. “Yeah, you got it.”
He nods, and before I can say another word, he jumps in. I watch him swim down, me holding the cables for the winch. And when I feel slack and see him swimming for the surface, I pull, tugging the pool cover winch out of the water and muscling it over to the side of the pool.
“Thanks, man,” Coach Kirby mutters from behind me, climbing out and shaking water out of his hair. He glances at me and half-smiles.
“Listen, sorry about that.”
I shrug. “No worries.”
“Nah, I didn’t need to snap.” He clears his throat. “And for the record, I will be seeing her again. No rabies shot required.”
I chuckle, shaking my head.
“Oh, and how’s the view up in that glass house of yours, by the way?”
I frown. “What?”
Coach Kirby grins. “Might want to take a look at your neck, buddy.”
My hand flies to my neck, and suddenly, I’m aware of the bruised feeling there. My fingers trace back to the back of my neck, and groan as I feel the raised scratch marks there.
Ramona.
I grin sheepishly and Coach Kirby chuckles. “Anyways, thanks for the help, Jamison. I appreciate it.”
“Any time.”
I start to walk past him to head out, when his voice behind me stops me.
“Hey, and Jamison?”
I turn, and he grins.
“I lied earlier.”
“About?”
He winks. “I’m not through trying to get you on this team. Not even close.”
I chuckle deeply as I turn back for the door and give him a wave over my shoulder.
“Say hi to your tiger for me, Coach.”
15
Jamison
I don’t know if talking to Coach Kirby gives me some sort of perspective or something, or maybe it’s just that some time to wander the school has let me cool off a little bit about Ramona walling herself off earlier. But whatever it is, when I’m at my locker later and get a little tap on my shoulder, I’m calmer than I was as I turn to look into her big blue eyes.
“Hey,” Ramona says softly.
“Hey yourself,” I grumble back, my brow furrowing slightly.
“Jamison, I…” she frowns and looks at the floor between us before her eyes drag back to mine. There’s a spark there, and this scared sort of anxiousness.
I glance around the mostly empty hallway before dragging my eyes back to her.
“Shit, Ramona, I don’t know. People might see you talking to me. Can’t have the reining princess of Winchester Academy fraternizing with guys like me, can we?”
She sighs, her mouth going small as her brow creases.
“So, there’s a chance I was an asshole earlier.”
Slowly, a small, small smile teases the corners of my lips.