Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Fortunately, we pulled out the win by a couple of runs, with Lopez moving in to close the final two innings. In the locker room afterward, I tugged my cell from my bag and, sure enough, there was Dad’s text. Sorry, something came up at work.
Coach said, “Next weekend, we have our first series with Fairmount U, and we need to really get our heads in the game.” When Coach’s eyes caught on mine, I looked away. He’d become like a paternal figure to me, so I felt terrible disappointing him. “It’s okay to have some initial snags while we find our harmony as a team, so I expect everyone to give it their all every game and practice.”
“Yes, Coach,” I recited along with everyone else, and as he and Coach Adams began retreating from the locker room, I blew out a breath.
“Maclain and Girard, meet me in my office,” Coach threw over his shoulder.
I stiffened as a couple of players whistled in our direction. Girard threw me a wary look as he pulled his shirt over his head. My stomach rolled as I did the same.
Right then Kellan came around with bags of snacks he’d pulled from the cupboard in our kitchen area. He was always good about providing sustenance when we needed it. We’d razzed him last year about favoring Donovan with his beloved gummy treats, but honestly, we’d all become sugar aficionados, especially after stressful games.
“Thanks,” I mumbled in his direction as I popped a handful of M&M’s in my mouth.
“You’ll need it,” he replied, and that set me on edge again. Likely, he only meant because his dad was strict, but now I wondered if he knew why we were being summoned.
As the locker room emptied, some players thumped me and Girard on the shoulders in solidarity, and once we slipped into our sneakers, we walked to his office together.
“Any idea what this is about?” I asked.
“Nope.”
When we pushed through the door to Coach Crawford’s office, he was seated behind his desk and Coach Adams was at the round table they used to strategize or flip through paperwork.
“Coach?” Girard said as we approached his desk, and my hands tightened on my bag.
“Anything I need to know?” Coach asked, looking between us.
My fingers started trembling because I felt like he could see the tension burning hot between us. Did he know that there was this thing about me and Girard—or just me—that I couldn’t put my finger on? Well, I could if I allowed myself to acknowledge it.
I was attracted to him. To a guy.
Logically, I knew Coach couldn’t possibly read my thoughts or know about any of our conversations, let alone the shower incident. Christ. But he had been privy to my elbow meeting Girard’s nose at the bowling alley. Except all that was water under the bridge. What the coach was really getting at in so many words was what happened at today’s game.
“I…” Girard began, and I cleared my throat, causing him to pause. I couldn’t let him take any blame. It was all on me.
“It was my fault today,” I explained. “I couldn’t seem to get my arm to work properly. Girard is a pain in my ass, but he was trying to make the right calls.” There. I did my Good Samaritan bit for the year.
Girard gaped, probably questioning what had come over me.
Fuck if I knew. Maybe I was turning over a new leaf. Or maybe it was him asking about that stupid bee.
“That how it went down?” Coach asked Girard.
Girard hesitated, then shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. But I definitely know how to get under his skin.”
Damn, he admitted it. No wonder he had trouble meeting my eyes.
Coach threw his assistant a guarded look, and I had a feeling something was coming down the pike. Fuck. I swallowed roughly, praying like hell that I wasn’t being benched for the season.
“Listen, you two are top-notch players, and when you’re in sync, we win ball games. But I know you don’t always get along.” Coach’s gaze landed on me. “In my opinion, you’re both too bullheaded—one more than the other.”
All I could do was nod because he was right.
Coach folded his arms. “Do you want your last year to be your best?”
“Of course,” Girard replied, and I murmured in agreement.
“You’re free to keep the bench warm all season”—he glanced at Coach Adams—“unless you agree to what we’re proposing.”
I gulped. “What’s that?”
“We think some team building is in order,” Coach Adams said. “It was actually Kellan’s idea.”
Now our bat boy’s peace offering in the locker room was beginning to make sense. I was going to kill him.
“You two are going to start rooming together every away game,” Coach Adams said. “And also help with our next fundraiser at the bowling alley. Maybe if you become more friendly, it would help.”