Chapter 19 Out of Time
Chapter nineteen
Out of Time
Jasmine Chamberlain
“He ghosted me. Can you believe that? A summer of flirting, only to pretend I don’t exist once the season kicks off,” Emmaline says to Claudette next to me.
We’re doing tumbling drills, each of us waiting for our tumbling coach, Vanessa, to call out our name to go.
She’s assessing each of us individually on the skills we use in our competition routine at nationals.
But while we wait, some of the girls like to make conversation.
I’m a little too busy panicking that my skills have slipped with the schedule I’m keeping, but it’s hard not to tune in to their conversation when they’re so close.
“Are you sure he’s not just busy? I mean, my schedule is crazy. I’m sure a football player has to block off time to breathe,” Claudette says, sounding reasonable to me.
Shepherd’s schedule rivals Saylor’s with how often he practices, trains, and goes over game tape or plays.
Add on school and chess club? I don’t know how he sleeps.
After I went to his dorm last week, we exchanged numbers, and he sent me his schedule so we could try to make time for another game. We haven’t found it yet.
“I would have thought that if he wouldn’t have dodged me when he saw me on the quad the other day. He ducked behind a tree. Who does that?”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing.
“Maybe he didn’t know how to tell you he wanted to end things?” Claudette suggests.
“Jasmine, you’re up!” Coach Vanessa shouts.
I take a deep breath, frustrated that I let myself get caught up in the conversation instead of staying focused.
I shrug, then break into a run down the indoor field we share with the football team.
The turf scrapes my hands as I do a roundoff into a back handspring, then a back tuck.
I stick the landing, then immediately bend my knees and do a straddle jump.
Coach Vanessa waves me over. My stomach is a swirl of anxiety as I jog over to her.
“It was a good series, but your tuck needs to be tighter,” she says. I nod in response. “And, I know your jumps can be higher. I noticed that when we ran the routine too.”
I nod again. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll work on it. Thank you.”
“Good.” She turns slightly away from me and cups her hands around her mouth to help project her voice. “If you’ve done your drills, go on the other side of the fifty-yard line and start doing the jump exercises we gave you over the summer.”
I jog across the center of the field with several of my other teammates, both guys and girls. The Thrashers have a coed team that cheers at every football game and competes in nationals. But I’m also on the all-girls team that goes to other sports events to support the athletes.
“I hate these,” Harry groans as he sits down nearby.
“They improve our jumps, though,” I reply and push my legs into a straddle. Once in position, I lift my left leg off the ground for a few seconds, then do the right.
“Your jumps are perfect, though,” Felicity says from across from me. Our movements mirror each other.
I shake my head. “Vanessa said they could be higher.”
And they will be. I can’t slack off, no matter how stressful my schedule is.
Dahlia paid for training camps and came to all my games and competitions.
Grayson didn’t just teach me chess; he also got me a membership at his state-of-the-art gym.
He tried to hide that he paid for it, but I still found out.
When I did, he told me it was just what family does.
Which I might be able to stomach, if we were blood family.
I’m just the tagalong sister of the woman who married his brother.
He was generous enough to help me in multiple ways, and I won’t let him down by being subpar.
This is how I’ll repay him until I open my restaurant and can actually pay him back.
Dahlia, too. She gave up her life to be my guardian.
The least I can do is make something of myself.
“Vanessa always thinks something could be better,” Harry says. “Sometimes she’s right; sometimes she’s just picky.”
I shrug. “Either way, there’s no point in complaining.”
Everyone quiets at my snappy wording. I scrub my face with my hands.
“I’m sorry, Harry, I shouldn’t have said it like that. I’m just stressed.”
“It’s okay. I get it.” He gives me a reassuring smile.
“Once you’ve finished at least three sets of the exercises, you can stretch and go home!” Vanessa yells from the sideline where she’s talking with the other coaches.
“Three?” Emmaline whines. “Will y’all snitch if I only do two? I can’t take this.”
A few of my teammates laugh.
“We won’t have to. You were one of the last ones over here—no way she believes you did three sets,” Tess says with a snicker.
“Ugh.” Emmaline huffs and continues doing her leg raises.
One by one, my teammates finish, do a quick stretch sequence, then leave.
After I do six sets of leg raises, I take my time stretching.
My coaches wave to me as they leave, telling me not to take too long because security will be by soon to lock up.
I’m finishing up stretching my arms when a voice makes me jump.
“Should have known you’d be the stay-after-practice type.”
I look up to find Shepherd standing on the sideline, hands in the pockets of his navy joggers.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as I stand.
“I came to see if you wanted to have a match after practice.”
I walk toward him, my heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings.
“You were waiting this whole time?” I ask, glancing down at my watch. It’s been twenty minutes since the official practice ended.
He shrugs. “Didn’t have anything else to do.”
I cross my arms and give him a look. “You and I both know that’s a lie. I have your schedule.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Maybe I’m slacking on a paper for English to be here. But who needs Shakespeare? I’m going to the NFL.”
I laugh. “So now you’re committing to the stereotype of being a dumb jock?”
“You did say I have resting idiot face last week.”
I press my lips together. His deep blue eyes glitter with amusement.
“I can’t believe I said that.”
He chuckles. “I can.”
I scrunch my nose in response, which makes his smile grow.
“Do you have time for a match?” He switches back to the subject at hand.
I nod. “I do, but I need to eat something. Are you hungry?”
“I’m a football player,” he answers.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I say with a short laugh. “Do you want to come to my place? I’ve got some leftover pesto chicken pasta in the fridge.”
“I told you I’d get you to cook for me,” he says as we head toward the door.
I notice him looking around. It’s a hypervigilance I’m used to in my family, but I haven’t seen Shepherd like this before.
I shrug it off. Maybe he just doesn’t want to run into anyone who would talk to him about football.
If he’s under as watchful an eye as he said the other night, then I wouldn’t blame him.
“The bet was about baking,” I emphasize. “And I’m not cooking for you, either. I’m sharing leftovers. That’s very different.”
He opens the door to the facility for me, letting me walk through first. The night air is cool and balmy. There aren’t many students out on the grounds, making it feel more peaceful than usual.
“If you say so,” he replies. “Will your roommates be home?”
“Oh, um, let me check.” I pull out my phone.
I hadn’t thought of them. While I know the girls would be supportive, I’m not sure I want to hear their teasing if I show up with Shepherd. Thankfully, a glance over the schedule shows they’ll all be out.
“Saylor is at a gallery event for a friend, Aurora is at the dance studio, and Marigold put that she was writing in the library until they kicked her out.”
Shepherd laughs. “Sounds like an interesting array of roommates.”
“They’re the best.” I smile. “I can’t believe I got so lucky.”
I wonder if they think the same thing of me, or if they’re just glad for a free place to live. A twinge of anxiety tears through the bubbly feeling I had before.
“I’m sure they think they’re the lucky ones if they get to eat your food all the time,” Shepherd comments as we wind our way through the campus buildings.
“I do pretty much all the cooking,” I say with a smile.
“They’re never going to let you stop. After your pastries, I’m afraid to try more of your food. I think it will ruin the meals I make.”
“It won’t be hard to do that. They were the saddest containers of food I’ve ever seen,” I say, not at all dramatically.
“Hey, they aren’t so bad. Teriyaki sauce can cover many a mistake.”
I shake my head. “You have to learn to cook. It’s a vital life skill.”
“Or I hire you to be my private chef. Can you start tomorrow?”
I laugh, and I realize how often I do that around Shepherd. Even when he’s being ridiculous—sometimes especially then—he makes me laugh with ease.
“That’s not learning. What if you lose all your fancy football money? You can’t hire a private chef then.”
He heaves a dramatic sigh. “Fine, I’ll learn, but only if you teach me.”
My brows shoot up. “You want me to teach you to cook?”
“I’ll teach you how to be better at chess, and you teach me how to cook. Seems like a fair trade.”
I tip my head to the side. “That’s not a terrible trade.”
He grins and stops on the walkway to hold out his hand. “Do we have a deal, Chef Jasmine?”
I shake my head. “Not a chef.”
“Yet,” he amends, and waves his hand in front of me. The tiny little word makes my heart jump.
I roll my eyes and slide my palm against his. “Deal.”
Shepherd squeezes my hand, engulfing it in his larger one. Warmth trickles from the spot he’s touching all the way through my body. I pull my hand back, suddenly unsure if the deal I made was too hasty. More moments with Shepherd means more of these feelings. And neither of us has time for those.