Chapter 2
One of the hardest things about being a professional cheerleader is the schedule.
Sure, I had done what I set my sights on from the first time I picked up a pair of pom-poms. I made it to the top, becoming a cheerleader for one of the most well-known, most sought-after squads in the league, but the more time that passes, I find myself longing for something…
more. Something different. Cheerleading isn’t the only thing I’ve been questioning in the last few months.
I’ve contemplated picking a new major and a new fallback career—sports medicine was never what I wanted to do, anyway, even if it made sense.
When the time comes to retire from performing, I wanted the option to stay involved in the cheer world, but now, I don’t think that’s what I want to do anymore.
Or maybe I’m just a little more over it than normal because today is Thanksgiving, and where am I? Not at home.
The Wildcats are scheduled to play Knoxville in a home game, which means cheerleader attendance is mandatory.
No exceptions.
Cassandra is home for Thanksgiving, and Kingsley is spending time with her family, who made the trip from Oklahoma because she couldn’t.
With two hours before I have to leave for the stadium, I have plenty of time on my hands, and I should probably go for a run, but lying in bed and watching one of those classic black and white movies with Audrey Hepburn sounds better.
It’s a holiday, after all. I deserve this.
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve seen most of these classics.
Growing up, my mother watched them all the time.
Her father was from Chile and spoke virtually no English when he moved to the States as a twenty-something with a dream and three months’ worth of rent.
He fell in love with a young college student who lived in the same co-op building, and they married a year later.
She helped him learn English by showing him movies, and they continued watching them well after he learned the language.
Their shared love for those movies was passed down to my mother, who shared them with us.
Movies like Roman Holiday bring a sense of comfort when I need it most, like when I’m away from home on the holidays.
Gregory Peck’s character smiles on screen, taunting the young Princess Ann for her new haircut.
I mouth the words of her response with her: “What would they say if they knew I spent the night in your room?” The words strike a chord in me, bringing the image of a man I’ve been trying to forget to the forefront of my mind.
It’s been at least three months, almost four, since we parted ways outside of The Resort, and I still think about that night and the next morning more than I’d care to admit…
Waking up in a strong embrace was a good indication that the night before was far from a dream, as if the three times we’d found ourselves tangled in the sheets weren’t reality enough.
I buried myself further into the plush mattress and his side, unable to force myself out of bed.
His embrace tightened before his fingers traced up and down my side.
Neither of us said anything, lying in the stillness for a few more minutes before we’d have to get up and face reality.
It was the opposite of everything I’d ever been told about a one-night stand, at least from the perspective of Cassandra and my brothers.
I had every intention of leaving that night.
Calling a cab and going home after we were done, because sleeping over was a big no-no in this situation, right?
Except I couldn’t bring myself to leave, couldn’t force myself out the door, and he didn’t seem to mind.
That night was the first and only time I’ve done something like that…
but I’d be happy to take that sentiment back if it came to getting lost in the sheets with John again.
My pulse quickens just thinking about that morning…
“Mornin’, Sweetheart,” John had mumbled against my hair.
Normally, I’d cringe at the use of that particular pet name—it had always seemed superficial, lazy even—but when he said it, a warmth spread through me.
It moved down my spine and spread like a wildfire across the network of nerves beneath my skin. “What time is it?”
Pushing up from his chest, I glanced at the clock. “Seven.”
“Fuck.” He groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face.
“I’m sorry to say this, but I have to go,” John said before he sat up and pulled my mouth to his for a series of quick kisses.
The last one lingered, warm and soft as he plied my mouth open.
His tongue danced against mine, stroking it in an eager embrace.
I couldn’t contain the soft whimper when he parted from me, earning a soft chuckle in reply.
“Trust me, I’d much rather stay here and find all the ways to make you squirm. ”
The words made my cheeks warm, and I was certain he could see the blush growing on my skin by the way he smirked. But he wasn’t wrong…I needed to leave, too.
“Technically, so do I. Duty calls at the coffee shop before rehearsal.”
Probably shouldn’t have said that. The man obviously had an important job—a career—one where they put him in nice hotels and he’s friendly with the suits. He doesn’t want to know that the girl he brought home is the same one who will probably be serving him coffee later on.
You’re not just a barista, I thought. Being a professional cheerleader is a career, too.
“Rehearsal?” John asked, pulling on a pair of gym shorts.
“I thought we weren’t discussing our private lives.” Even though we’d done just that on the drive back from the bar.
“You started it, Sweetheart.” He winked, disappearing into the bathroom.
“Cheerleader,” I answered, lifting my arms into the sky and leaning from side to side in a much-needed stretch.
He poked his head back into the bedroom, about to put his toothbrush in his mouth. “You’re a cheerleader?”
“Wildcat.”
He stared at me a moment longer, lifting his brows in surprise, before he stuck the toothbrush in his mouth.
I climbed out of bed to get dressed, and looking down at the clothes I had readily available, it dawned on me that I’d be late for my shift at the café.
I couldn’t wear a crop top, and I certainly couldn’t wear high heels.
“You don’t remind me of any cheerleader I’ve ever met,” John said a minute later, putting his toothbrush into his bag. He pulled out two white shirts, extending the second one to me.
Wait, was he giving me one of his shirts?
“You meet a lot of them?” I asked, fingering the fabric, but I didn’t take it immediately, unsure of the protocol in that situation. I was never supposed to see him again. I couldn’t take his shirt…could I? I looked up to meet his gaze again. “Cheerleaders, I mean.”
“No.” The answer came quickly and made me smile.
He pushed the shirt toward me again. “Here, take this, you’ll be more comfortable.
” John’s attention returned to the bag after he pulled his own shirt over his head, methodically packing things into the suitcase that had barely been unpacked to begin with.
He was leaving already? That was a quick trip…
“You’re never getting this back, by the way,” I said, tying the back of the vastly oversized shirt into a small knot and tucking it inside the back.
“It’s yours now.” John laughed. “I’m sorry I have to run, but…I can drop you off at home first.” His face when he looked at the clock said otherwise, though.
“You don’t have to. I can manage to get a cab.”
He smiled weakly—grateful almost—which told me he didn’t have the time to drop me off, but the offer was sweet. “I really should go.”
“It’s okay, go.”
He stooped down to capture my lips in a deep kiss, snaking his arm around my waist to pull me further against him.
That was not how one-night stands end, but you want to know something?
I wasn’t complaining. Not when it felt so right being in his arms. The way he made me feel…
it was like walking on air while being tethered to the Earth at the same time.
Standing there, his lips pressed firmly against mine, it started to hit me that I’d never see him again…
“C’mon,” John said. “Least I can do is get you a cab.” I didn’t argue, following him out of the room, his fingers interlaced with mine as the door closed behind us.
And when I walked into Adler Training Center that afternoon to begin what I liked to call hell week—the week leading into preseason—it was the furthest place from where I wanted to be…
How was I supposed to worry about following routines and working on tightening up our weak spots when my head was in the fucking clouds all day?
It was fair to say I’d been on autopilot most of the day, going through the motions at the café and barely able to comprehend the words I put on the page for the paper due for my single class of the summer semester.
Despite my attempts to put it on the back burner, I hadn’t been able to get him out of my head.
A loud bang echoed from the other side of the locker room door of the training center, and I stopped short right before it burst open.
One of the only blonde girls on the squad stormed out, and another followed two steps behind.
I rolled my eyes as they passed by. I should’ve known it was them.
They were always fighting over something—usually over a guy.
The same guy. A similar situation happened two months prior, and I just hoped it didn’t take the coaches to separate them.