Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
“Seeing how you needlessly threw away your season against them, I would hope you remembered.”
Jeremy set his coffee down and fixed Jean with a serious look. “Jean, look at me,” he said, and waited until Jean obediently gave him his undivided attention. “It’s important to me that you understand we didn’t throw anything away.
“Never before in Class I history has a team done what the Foxes pulled off last year. And yeah, they were building on momentum from the year before, and Kevin made a major difference on the lineup, but that only explains so much. We wanted to understand that meteoric rise, so we needed to test ourselves against them at their level. We weren’t sure we’d ever get the chance again. Who’s to say they can pull it off two years in a row, right?”
“You gambled and you lost.”
“The Ravens didn’t, but so did they,” Jeremy pointed out. Jean looked away: not in avoidance, but in thought. Jeremy gave him a few seconds to interject before continuing. “We can do what the Ravens can’t, what they’ve never learned how: we can weather a loss and learn from every team we face. We’re stronger for playing against the Foxes, and we’re stronger for losing. It’s what we needed, so we’ll focus on that golden opportunity instead of the disappointing outcome. If Palmetto makes it that far again, I have every faith we can come out on top.”
“If they do, Kevin’s going to be your problem,” Cat said to Jean. It was a bold assumption to make when Jean would start the year as a sub, but Jeremy couldn’t imagine Rhemann making any other decision. “Can you handle him?”
Jean was honest enough to say, “Unknown, considering the Trojans’ restrictions. First I have to destroy Allen.”
“Derrick?” Jeremy asked, startled. “What did he do to you?”
“He thinks he’s better than me,” Jean said, with a sour look. He tapped another agitated beat on the side of his mug and said, “I don’t face him enough on the court. I need to study more games to see how he plays outside of drills. No practice at all today?”
“No practice at all,” Jeremy confirmed.
Jean said something that sounded rude and left the room. Cat sent an exasperated look after him where she was halfway through dishing up their breakfast, then quirked a brow at Jeremy and asked, “When are you gonna tell him we’re going to Santa Monica for the fireworks?”
“Maybe when we’re putting him in the car,” Jeremy suggested.
Laila smiled. “At least let him watch a match or two first. It’ll calm him down.”
“One can hope.” Jeremy held out his hand for Jean’s plate. “Do you need the TV, or can I plant him in front of it?”
“All yours,” she said, so Jeremy went to pry Jean off his laptop.
This wasn’t how he’d planned to spend his morning, but once Jeremy got a game going on the TV it was easy to settle in beside Jean on the couch. He’d picked a game at random, but by ten minutes in he remembered the match and was pleased with his choice.
More interesting than the game was how Jean interacted with it. He’d been silently avoidant with every movie they inflicted on him, but Jean was hooked on this from the start. He peppered the match with idle observations and rude commentary, and even tried to hush the commentators when they talked over him with an opposing opinion. It was more endearing than it should be, and Jeremy hid a smile against his long-empty mug whenever Jean got particularly rude.
When on-screen Jeremy missed a shot he really shouldn’t have, Jean turned to stare at him. He looked so genuinely scandalized Jeremy couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry. He and I have history, so I was distracted by our conversation.” More specifically, Ivan Faser had been listing everything he’d let Jeremy do to him if Jeremy came by his hotel room after the match. Jeremy attempted a solemn look and crossed his heart. “Won’t happen again, scout’s honor.”
Past-Jeremy redeemed himself ten minutes later when he managed to escape both defensemen and score. The goalkeeper wasn’t expecting him to make it from that angle or distance, and he smashed his racquet against the floor in frustration.
Jeremy grinned over at Jean and said, “That makes up for the last fumble, right?”
“A solid play can’t erase a critical mistake,” Jean said. Jeremy rolled his eyes and sank back to his side of the couch. He was nearly settled when Jean said, “But most of the time you are very good.”
It wasn’t the words that set his heart tripping; Jeremy had heard variations of the same compliment for years from teammates and strangers alike. It was the heavy satisfaction in his tone that put a needy heat in Jeremy’s stomach. Jeremy opened his mouth, closed it again, and settled on a bright, “Thanks! I try my best. Hey, want some water? I was about to go get some.”