Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“Gives him time to change his mind after he sees your playoff beard,” Mads teases.
I tackle him, wrestling him to the mats, just as the door opens and I hear, “I’m going to kick your asses if one of you gets hurt,” in Coach’s deep baritone.
Before I realize what’s happening, Mads scrambles out from under me and pushes to his feet. “It was all Pierce’s fault.”
I stand too. “Way to throw me under the bus, buddy.” I turn to Coach. “He’s a liar. I was defending myself.”
Coach can be a hard-ass, but he’s a good guy, a great coach, and cares about his team and players. He offers a small smirk. “Just be careful, both of you. Pierce, can I talk to you for a minute?”
I nod, my gut twisting. It’s like getting called into the principal’s office when you’re a kid. Even knowing you didn’t do anything wrong, it’s scary as fuck.
Coach Warren slips out, and Mads asks, “Want me to wait?”
“Nah, I’m good. Thanks, man.”
He claps me on the shoulder, and we each grab our bags, then head out—Mads going left, me right, toward Coach’s office.
“Is everything okay?” I close the door and sit down.
“Yeah, everything’s great. Your play is at a whole new level this season. I just wanted to make sure you know I see it, that the Rebels organization sees it, and I can assure you, the whole league does too.”
I…don’t know what to say. A cocky response sits at the tip of my tongue, but that’s mostly because cocky responses are my go-to. This moment is realer than that, though. Coach has never pulled me into his office just to say something like that before. “Thank you. That means a lot to me. I want to do well for the Rebels.”
“That’s what we want to hear. Keep it up. We’re counting on you. You’re what we need to finish this out. Keep your head in the game, and we got this.”
While in some ways those words fuel me, they also land heavily in my chest. I always feel pressure to succeed, but getting pulled aside by your coach who tells you how great you’re doing and then basically says, Don’t fuck it up, everyone is depending on you, nah, that’s not a big deal at all. “I won’t let you down.”
He dismisses me, and I head out, trying not to let myself stress too much about what he said, but it does hammer home that Hayes and I are making the right call by not being public. It’s a distraction we don’t need until after June.
*
I’m thinking about what Coach said all day. When I leave the arena, I have a meeting with some guys from one of the companies sponsoring me, but I can’t help worrying about meeting the Jilted Exes. Hayes hasn’t told them who I am. He said he’s bringing a friend, but now all I can think is…what if we can’t trust them? What if one of them ends up wanting to make himself internet famous in a different way and decides to out us? Just a few hours ago I was all up in my feels that we couldn’t go public, and now I’m freaking the hell out about meeting his friends.
I leave my meeting and head home, still distracted. Puck gives me a dirty look when I come in, like he can see my thoughts and he’s not happy with them. The little traitor likes Hayes more than me.
At six, when Hayes shows up, I open the door and word-vomit, “Maybe we should put off meeting your friends.”
He flinches, and guilt floods me.
“Shit. That came out all wrong. I just—actually, fuck. Come in. Why am I broken?” I pull him inside and press my lips to his. A good boyfriend should at least greet his man with a kiss before being a dickhead.
Hayes kisses me back, but not as passionately as he normally would, and when I pull away, he asks, “Are you breaking up with me?” and damned if that doesn’t shatter my heart.
“What? No. God no. You know what? Never mind. I’m being an idiot. Let’s continue as planned.” There’s no reason to believe we can’t trust his friends.
“I don’t want you to go if you don’t want to go.” He walks away, going deeper into my living room. Hayes doesn’t stop until he gets to the glass doors, looking out at the ocean.
Fuck. I’m such a dick. I walk over and wrap my arms around him from behind. “I want to go. I just…Coach was telling me how good I’m doing, how happy the Rebels are with me, and to keep my head in the game, that they’re counting on me. Which, for whatever reason, fucked with my head. I started stressing over meeting Anthony and Donovan and them outing us and it being a big story right before the playoffs. I don’t want to let the team down.” This is my dream, and we have a better chance to go all the way this season than we ever have. But I don’t want to let Hayes down either. Him asking me to meet his friends was a big deal. And the fact is, I want to meet them. I want everyone to know about us.