Chapter Two — Rhett
Chapter Two
Rhett
Coach Mercer waited until the hallway door swung shut behind us.
Then he said, “What were you thinking?”
I considered lying.
Not because I had a good lie.
Mostly because silence felt dangerous.
“It was breakfast.”
His stare hardened.
“That is not an answer.”
“It was wrapped badly.”
“It was wrapped in foil.”
“In my defense, I was distracted.”
“By what?”
I glanced through the narrow window in the kitchen door.
Tessa Monroe stood under a leaking sprinkler, holding a ruined stack of papers and looking like she was one inconvenience away from declaring war on electricity.
“Nothing.”
Coach followed my gaze.
His expression changed in the way adults’ expressions did when they realized the problem was worse than they thought.
“Callahan.”
“Coach.”
“You will fix this.”
“I know.”
“You will show up early.”
“I will.”
“You will follow every instruction Ms. Monroe gives you.”
I looked through the window again.
Tessa was arguing with the student union manager while pointing toward the ceiling with the kind of precision usually reserved for criminal prosecutions.
“That seems broad.”
Coach stepped closer.
“It is intended to be.”
I nodded.
“Understood.”
“You will not flirt with her.”
That got my attention.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
Coach said nothing.
“Why does everyone keep acting like I flirt with every woman I meet?”
“Because you flirted with the athletic trainer while she was checking you for a concussion.”
“I was being friendly.”
“You asked if she believed in love at first neurological exam.”
“She laughed.”
“She documented it.”
I smiled despite myself.
Coach didn’t.
“Ms. Monroe is responsible for an event involving half the campus. You are going to help her, not distract her.”
“I can be useful.”
“You put metal in a toaster.”
“One mistake.”
“This week?”
I thought about Monday’s parking ticket.
Tuesday’s equipment-room misunderstanding.
And the fact that I had accidentally broken the lid off the team blender yesterday.
“Define mistake.”
Coach closed his eyes.
For a second, I thought he might pray.
Then he opened them.
“Be at the arena hospitality suite at seven tomorrow morning.”
“Seven?”
“You damaged her event.”
“I understand that.”
“Do you?”
I looked through the glass again.
Tessa bent over the soaked table, gathering papers one by one.
Something uncomfortable pulled low in my chest.
Not guilt exactly.
Worse.
Responsibility.
“I do.”
Coach studied me.
“Good.”
He started toward the stairwell, then stopped.
“And Callahan?”
“Yeah?”
“If I hear that you made this harder for her, you’ll spend the next month running stairs until your legs forget what ice feels like.”
“Motivating.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He left.
I stayed in the hallway.
Mostly because returning to the kitchen felt like walking willingly into enemy territory.
Also because Tessa looked angry.
Not loud angry.
That would have been easier.
She had the quiet kind.
The kind that involved organized lists and consequences.
The kitchen door opened.
Paige stepped out carrying a wet poster board.
She saw me and stopped.
“You’re still here.”
“Coach threatened my knees.”
“That seems fair.”
“I was hoping you’d say the damage looks worse than it is.”
“It looks exactly as bad as it is.”
“Optimistic.”
She shifted the poster board under one arm.
“You should know something about Tessa.”
I leaned against the wall.
“She keeps emergency fire equipment close?”
“She does not like chaos.”
“I gathered that.”
“No. I mean she really doesn’t like it.”
Paige looked through the door.
Tessa was speaking to Dean Walsh now, one hand pressed flat against the table.
“She spent six weeks on this event,” Paige said. “She made contingency plans for the contingency plans.”
“And I introduced fire.”
“And water.”
“And team resources.”
Paige gave me a look.
“Do not try to charm your way out of this.”
“I don’t charm my way out of things.”
“You absolutely do.”
“I solve problems socially.”
“You smile until people lower their expectations.”
That was unfair.
Accurate.
But unfair.
“I can help.”
“Then help.”
She pushed the wet poster board into my arms.
Water ran down the front of my sweatshirt.
“Great talk.”
Paige opened the kitchen door again.
“Seven tomorrow.”
“I heard Coach.”
“She’ll be there at six-thirty.”
“Of course she will.”
“And if you show up at seven with coffee and a smile, she’ll hate you.”
I looked through the glass.
Tessa tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear and wrote something on the back of a damp schedule.
“What kind of coffee?”
Paige smiled.
“Wrong question.”
Then she went back inside.
I looked down at the ruined poster board.
It showed a hand-painted map of campus covered in silver stars.
Or it had.
Now half the stars were sliding toward the bottom edge in streaks of glitter.
I carried it back into the kitchen.
Tessa glanced up.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping.”
“You’re dripping on the floor.”
“The ceiling started it.”
She closed her eyes briefly.
I set the poster board carefully against the wall.
“What do you need?”
Her gaze moved over me.
Not in the way I was used to.
No interest.
No quick smile.
Just assessment.
Like she was deciding whether I qualified as a tool or an additional hazard.
“Can you lift tables?”
“Yes.”
“Can you follow a diagram?”
“Usually.”
“That wasn’t reassuring.”
“I’m trying honesty.”
“Try competence.”
I smiled.
She didn’t.
That should have made me want to leave.
Instead, I found myself stepping closer.
“Give me a job, Monroe.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Stop calling me Monroe.”
“Why?”
“Because you say it like you’re trying to start something.”
“Maybe I am.”
Paige made a warning noise from across the room.
Tessa looked past me.
Then back.
“Tomorrow morning. Six-thirty. Arena hospitality entrance.”
“Coach said seven.”
“I’m not Coach.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Wear clothes you can ruin.”
I looked down at the white powder caked across my sweatshirt.
“I’m ahead of schedule.”
Her mouth twitched.
Barely.
But I saw it.
And because I had never been particularly wise around a challenge, I said, “Was that almost a smile?”
“No.”
“It looked like one.”
“You have fire-extinguisher residue in your eyelashes.”
“So you were looking at my eyes.”
“I was looking for brain damage.”
“Find any?”
“Strong evidence.”
There it was.
Not a smile.
But close.
Something light moved through me.
Ridiculous.
I had been flirted with by women who knew exactly what they were doing.
Tessa Monroe looked at me like I was an administrative burden, and suddenly I wanted to earn one real laugh like it was a championship point.
Which was probably a bad sign.
I shoved my hands into the pockets of my wet sweatshirt.
“Six-thirty.”
“Do not be late.”
“I won’t.”
“Do not bring your teammates.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Do not touch any appliances.”
“That feels targeted.”
“It is.”
I started toward the door.
Then remembered.
“My offer still stands.”
Her expression cooled.
“I don’t need a favor.”
“You might.”
“I won’t.”
“Everyone does eventually.”
She looked down at the ruined schedules.
For one second, the sharpness slipped.
She looked tired.
Not fragile.
Never that.
Just disappointed in a way that made me want to undo the morning.
Then she straightened.
“I need you to show up tomorrow and do exactly what I tell you.”
“That’s not a favor.”
“It is from you.”
I laughed.
She didn’t.
But her eyes warmed.
A fraction.
I backed toward the door.
“Six-thirty, Tessa.”
Her gaze snapped to mine.
I had used her first name on purpose.
We both knew it.
“Callahan.”
I opened the door.
“See you tomorrow.”
“Unfortunately.”
I stepped into the hallway smiling.
Which was stupid.
Because I had ruined a kitchen, angered my coach, inherited an entire weekend of manual labor, and somehow agreed to take orders from the only woman on campus who seemed entirely immune to me.
I should have been annoyed.
Instead, I was already wondering what it would take to make her laugh for real.