Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
The first thing I did was try to find Penelope. She was my first concern. Her. All her. I just wanted everything to be okay between us.
Coach lets out a heavy sigh and considers both of us.
He’s angry, I’m fuming, and Archer’s just pouting.
“Well, boys. That’s quite a story you’ve both told.” He leans in over his desk, arms folded. “Let me be sure I have it right.” He levels his hard gaze at Archer. “Take your hoodie off, son. That’s just disrespectful.”
Archer’s jaw grinds but he whips it off. He shoots a look at me. “With all due respect, sir, all you heard was Ryker’s story when he came tattling to you this morning. I didn’t make him take the bet or blab about his sexual exploits to the entire football team.”
Coach jerks to his feet and points a finger at Archer. “Don’t you give me any fucking lip, boy. You and I and everyone on this coaching staff know you’ve been wrangling to win that trophy any way you could. It doesn’t take a genius to see your games. You wanted to be captain and you got it. You wanted to antagonize Ryker and you got it. And now you’re messing with the daughter of one of my best friends. It’s time to shut the fuck up and listen.”
Archer pales as his mouth opens then shuts.
I nod. “Guess you didn’t know that little tidbit, did you?”
“Shut up, Ryker,” Coach snaps, but I don’t even care. I’ve got the taste of victory in my mouth, have ever since I woke up this morning and knew I had to do something before this spun out of control and ruined Penelope’s trust in me forever. I mean, I don’t think she’ll ever give me a shot again, but at least I can try to fix this mess for her.
I went to Coach’s house at six in the morning when he was barely out of bed and hadn’t even had a cup of coffee. I was haggard, exhausted from getting almost no sleep, and desperate. In the past three years, he’s been more of a father figure than my own dad, and maybe it was that thought that spurred me to sit down at his kitchen table and let it all out. Archer and his games, the flat tire, the bets—how I feel about Penelope.
Little did I know he was also Penelope’s dad’s coach years ago. Apparently, they still play golf together.
He listened, cursing a blue streak with each revelation.
And now here we sit.
Waiting for judgment.
He hitches up his pants and glares at both of us. “It ends today. We’re going to put this behind us and never speak of it again. If there is even a breath of it anywhere on social media or as gossip, you will be suspended from the team,” he growls. “This schoolyard nonsense is for babies. And not a fucking word will you speak to each other unless it’s you look nice today or may I buy you a sandwich kind of shit. Do you get it?”
I nod. It’s all I want. A real team. “Yes sir.”
He looks at Archer, whose lips are tight.
“Speak!” Coach says, making him flinch.
Archer swallows. “Yes sir. I understand. Does this mean I can still be captain?”
Coach glares at him. “Neither of you are captains. Not until you prove me wrong by your conduct. Feel me?”
We nod.
“Good.” He comes around the desk. “Now, let’s go talk to the team.” Coach stalks over to me. “I’m giving you point on this, Ryker. Say what you want to your teammates and get it all out.”
I give him a brief nod, and we walk out. I know exactly what I’m going to do.
Penelope
“You make a better Madonna than Madonna,” Charisma tells me as I plop down in the student section of the stands. I preen and strike a pose for her, my big cross earring dangling against my neck.
“Do a turn so I can see,” Margo calls out a few seats over.
I have a little room, so I do a pirouette in my black tutu and hot pink lace crop top, a consignment store find. The edges of the shirt are scalloped, and it comes to just below my titlets. A long black beaded necklace with a heavy cross pendant dangles to my navel, and a studded chain is wrapped around my waist and hangs down. On my feet are black booties with lacy socks.
It fits the rebel in me well.
Charisma gives me a fist bump. “Looking stellar.”
“You look snazzy yourself. Indiana Jones, I presume.” I check out her pants, hat, and the whip that’s resting next to her.
She toys with it. “It’s for Blaze. Later. I’m going to make him pay for not telling me everything.”
Margo is in a pink business suit with shoulder pads, pumps, and bouffant hair. Connor is next to her and has on a Polo with the collar popped and penny loafers. Finally, it fits.