Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
I’m beyond that.
“Again, if you don’t like it, you should’ve done something about it,” I say, glaring right back and ignoring the swipe at me. I won’t back down from him. I’ll hold my ground. “Because I don’t want to be here. This isn’t my idea of a good time either.”
“You’ve crossed a line, Astrid.”
“Okay,” I say, mocking him.
“You don’t call the shots here.” His features darken. “I mean it. The groceries were one thing. The fucking schedule was another. But this? This is my locker room with my team.” He glances over his shoulder, the vein in the side of his neck throbbing. “I know you and Renn seem to think I’m incompetent, but I think I can manage getting my locker together.”
I throw my hands in the air. “It’s deodorant and a first-aid kit, for Pete’s sake. It’s not like I’m giving you a box of condoms and a sandwich.”
“Right. I might’ve been able to use those.”
I groan, huffing a breath to keep myself from choking on my frustration.
He stalks across the room, filling the air with the warm scent of his cologne, yet a sudden chill hangs between us. He’s glowering at me.
Out of all the things I thought he’d get upset about, putting together his locker wasn’t it. I also didn’t expect him to be so … mad.
“Guess the articles I read online about you were true,” I say with a shrug.
“The locker room is off-limits to you,” he says, his eyes blazing. “I’m not joking.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not your decision.”
He runs a thick palm over his head in evident frustration.
“If you don’t like it, take it up with Renn,” I say, my hands gripping my hips even tighter. “Because he’s under the impression you need me, and just because you’re a complete fucking dick, I’m going all in. I’m going to go the extra mile just to piss you off.”
His nostrils flare. “You’ll regret that.”
“Yeah, probably not. Because you’ll be out of here in a few months, and I won’t.”
A door behind me opens, and voices fill the locker room. I rip my gaze from Gray’s.
“Did we interrupt something?” a guy everyone calls Breaker asks.
Gray’s stare burns a hole in the side of my face. I don’t acknowledge it.
“No, you didn’t,” I say, giving Breaker and Jory Plath a smile. I’ve met Jory a couple of times. Calling him one of my favorite players would be a lie, considering that I don’t like any of them. But he’s one of the least grating. “I was just giving Gray a tour. Guys, this is your new scrum half, Gray Adler.” I look at him over my shoulder. Fucker. “This is Breaker and Jory Plath.”
“We know who the hell he is,” Jory says, laughing. “Gray, it’s good to fuckin’ meet ya, my man.” He extends a hand to him. “It’s nice to have ya here. Welcome to Nashville.”
“It’s good to be here,” Gray says, shaking his hand before reaching for Breaker’s. “Nicest facility I’ve ever seen, that’s for damn sure.”
“Fuck, yeah,” Jory says. “This facility has all the perks. They treat us like gods here.”
Breaker chuckles, side-eyeing me. “Looks like Adler got a perk of his own.”
A perk? My blood boils.
Jory shoves Breaker’s shoulder, knocking him off-balance. Gray starts to speak, but I jump in before he can get anything out. I certainly don’t want him piling on me in front of other people. This is embarrassing enough.
“Oh, Breaker, that’s where you’ve fucked up,” I say, smiling sweetly. “I’m no one’s perk. But if you ever demean me or reduce me to a perk again, I won’t be your perk. But I will be your fucking problem.” I let my gaze linger on his before ripping it away.
Jory winces. I don’t give Gray the time of day. If he can rearrange his schedule, he can find his way around the complex.
“Have a good day, boys,” I say, walking out the door and not looking back.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Gray
“Shift it wide!” Coach Farrell shouts from across the pitch, watching the backs unit work on attacks for this week’s game. “When that happens, I want you to use the overlap.” He claps twice, motioning for them to regroup. “Let’s run through that again.”
A breeze ripples across the stadium, bringing with it the scent of freshly cut grass and sweat. It delivers a hit of nostalgia, of being young and playing in the spring, not far from here, with my parents in the stands. Brooks would be beside me, and girls would be yelling at us from the bleachers. After the game, we’d go home with a large Piper’s Pizza and Brooks in tow. Mom would always let him come over, as long as Hartley and I still completed our barn chores before bed.
I tuck my hands into the pockets of my hoodie and take in the energy and activity around me. Each unit runs through its job-specific tasks, honing ways to create opportunities during Saturday’s match. The rhythm of the game—the movements, the patterns—restores a beat to my life that’s been missing over the last few days.