Chapter 20 #2
“I don’t even know what that means.” My eyes narrowed. “I’m not pacing, I’m sitting still.”
“You’re pacing internally.” He lowered his voice just enough that no one would notice. “Everyone can feel the . . . vibe.”
I glared at him, and he grinned.
“Look,” he said, leaning forward, elbows on knees, voice even softer, “you’re not actually mad she left.”
“I’m absolutely mad she left.”
“You’re scared.”
I didn’t respond.
“And you’re annoyed you’re scared,” he added. “Which is, you know, cute.”
“I’m not fucking cute,” I growled. I scrubbed a hand across my face, wishing he would give me a break or be a person who minded his own damn business.
I looked around. Dante was talking to two of the coaches, his arms crossed as he spoke to them, completely dialed in to the conversation. “She’s still snooping,” I muttered.
Noah’s expression became serious. “Yeah, I figured.”
“She shouldn’t be.”
“No,” he agreed. “She shouldn’t.”
“But she is.”
“Of course she is.”
“And she didn’t—” my throat tightened — “tell me.”
Noah tilted his head. “Did she owe you that?”
A reasonable question, even if it was an infuriating one. I didn’t answer.
He sighed. “Look, she could have told us, I agree, but at the same time, she owes us nothing. She just met us.”
“Huh,” I muttered.
“And you guys only made out, right?”
I squinted at him, not sure where he was going with this. “Yeah?”
“So stop acting like she stabbed you.”
I shot him a look. “I’m not—”
“You are,” he said bluntly. “You’re pissed because . . . I actually don’t know why you’re so pissed. Dante has more reason to be pissed than you. Savvy went with her.”
I stared down at the floor. “She could get hurt.”
“They won’t,” he told me with confidence. “Honestly, I’m more sympathetic toward whoever’s opening the door to them. Aren’t you?”
That actually made me laugh.
“I’m going to text her,” I said.
“Godspeed,” Noah murmured, crossing himself dramatically.
I grabbed my phone from the locker and opened my messages. Her name was glowing at the top — Peterson — mocking me. I typed out a message.
Me: You shouldn’t be in Nashville.
I deleted it. I typed again.
Me: Tell me you’re okay.
Nope. Not that, too needy.
I tried again.
Me: Do you think this is your best idea?
I stared at it; it was probably too confrontational. Even though it was a good, honest question, I deleted it.
Noah covered a laugh with a cough. I glanced up at him.
“What?” I snapped.
He laughed. “Sorry, this is funny.” He held his hands up. “C’mon man, you’re you. You’re a confident guy when it comes to women, and here you are, sweating over a text message.”
“Go away.”
He snorted. “Can’t. This is too entertaining.”
I typed out another message.
Me: Let me know when you’re back.
Short.
Neutral-ish.
Reasonable.
I hovered over send, and then I deleted it.
Noah groaned. “Send the text!”
“I’m not doing this with you watching.”
“Fine.”
He stood and began getting ready for the showers. “I’m not looking, okay?”
He was a dick. “Have you always been a dick?” I grumbled.
Then, before I could talk myself out of it, I fired off a quick message.
Me: Just text me when you’re back.
I hit send, and the phone made the whoosh sound to say it was gone.
Instant regret, or instant relief. Fuck. She scrambled my head, and I hated it. I tossed my phone onto the bench and leaned back, staring at the ceiling tiles like they held the answers to life.
Maybe she wouldn’t reply. She’d probably ignore it. I deserved that. But maybe — just maybe — she’d text back. And if she did? I know I’d read it a hundred times.
“This is shit.” I stood up. I wasn’t some pussy-whipped boyfriend. Fuck, we weren’t even friends. What the heck was I doing worrying about her?
“Slater!”
I jumped as Coach Sutherland screamed at me across the locker room. “Whoa, what?” I saw the glare. “Yes, Coach?”
“When I call your fucking phone, you answer your fucking phone! My office. Now!”
I looked at my phone. Shit. He’d called? I was too wrapped up in Hadley—
“Slater, why the fuck are you not moving?” Coach Sutherland bellowed.
“Yes, Coach!” I hurried across the locker room, seeing Dante’s perfectly schooled expression and Noah’s quizzical frown. I jogged to the door, my cleats clicking on the tile. He didn’t wait for me. I followed him, my steps slowing when I saw Dean Cole standing in his office.
Fuck, what’s happened now?
“Close the door,” Coach snapped, and I did, hesitating when I saw the girl in the other seat. He sat behind his desk, glaring at all three of us. “The dean has something for you.” His glare shifted to the girl.
“What?” I looked between the three of them.
She was slight, with dark hair — no, purple.
Her black hair had a purple sheen to it.
She was really pale and had huge eyes. She looked like an anime character, but not quite.
She was looking at her phone with the focused disinterest of someone who’d been in exactly this kind of meeting before, only I didn’t know what this kind of meeting was. “Who are you?”
Dean Cole harrumphed. “This is Briar Holmes.”
She looked up and offered me a small smile.
I knew for certain I hadn’t fucked her, so I didn’t know why I was here. “Hi?”
“Your recent—” the dean hesitated — “video drew a lot of attention.”
“What?” What the fuck was he saying? What video? Cold dread washed over me. I glanced at Coach — oh shit, he was about to kill me. “The one with Had — the reporter?”
“Yes.” Dean Cole’s smile was thin and unamused. “It’s brought a lot of attention to you.”
I blinked. “What? Why?”
“Because every woman you never called back decided to comment on the fucking thing, calling you a dick, and now I have your womanizing rejects causing unnecessary drama,” Coach Sutherland snapped at me.
Was this real? I saw Dean Cole’s eyes close briefly at Sutherland’s rant.
I shook my head. “What is happening?” I looked at the girl. I’d already forgotten her name.
“Briar,” she murmured as if reading my mind. “You’re getting some negative attention on social media,” she said softly, her eyes downcast like she didn’t want the attention any more than I did. “I’m here to fix it.”
I looked between the three of them. “She chased me across the field. Why is this a negative thing for me?”
“I believe they’re calling it karma,” Dean Cole said primly.
I wasn’t hiding my confusion. “You fix this how?” I looked at Coach in alarm. “I don’t have to date her, do I?”
He gave me a flat look of displeasure.
“Miss Holmes is part of the social media marketing team,” Dean Cole said, pretending I’d never spoken. “She will shadow you and hopefully help clean up your social media image.”
“My image is fine.”
“Your image is a man who can’t keep his dick in his pants,” Coach Sutherland snapped. He glanced at Briar. “Hope bad language doesn’t offend you.”
She shrugged. “Not at all.”
Dean Cole spoke to me as if the interruptions hadn’t happened.
“Miss Holmes will shadow you and the team for the rest of spring training and this semester. Hopefully, when you return next semester, all the fuss will be over.” He glanced at Coach Sutherland.
“Bobby Ray. Try to keep this one in the building a little longer.”
He left the room. Coach Sutherland was on his feet, muttering about reporters hanging around his neck, and left me in the office with the goth girl. Only she wasn’t really a goth girl; she was just . . . what?
“What the fuck just happened?” I asked her.