Page 11 of Call the Shots (For The Arena #1)

JUNE

SHOUTING AT THE TROJAN HORSE

Leaving the hockey players to their own devices was clearly not the way to go. In the days leading to their first exhibition practice, Denali, Cleo, and I scoured the campus to track down the last of them.

The Gladiators hadn’t even been on the ice together. How could this possibly go well?

“This is a bad idea,” I whispered to Cleo again.

Cleo motioned towards Denali. “Tell someone who people will listen to. Because I’m the oracle, shouting about the Trojan horse. No one cares what I say.”

Outside the locker room, I spotted the only two people who could lift my anxious mood, King and his little sister Jasmine. Jasmine usually ran over for a hug, but she was deep in an argument with her brother, who looked kind of…exhausted?

“Jasmine!” I waved, jogging up to meet them.

She crossed her little arms in a show of defiance. “She has to come to my birthday party?—”

“I’m coming for your birthday.” I crouched down to pull her into a hug. “I have to leave early for a family thing but I’m coming for breakfast to make crêpes! ”

“No, not you. My favorite!”

“Favorite?” I echoed and shot a glance at King. “She has a new favorite?”

“Willow’s my new favorite,” Jasmine answered. “She sings beautiful and she’s so pretty and she’s coming to my party and King’s being a butthead?—”

“Willow?”

King grunted. “Coach’s stepdaughter.”

Right, the football coach’s stepdaughter finally transferred. It’d been so busy, I forgot about it. I smiled at Jasmine. “What can I do to gain the top spot again?”

“Nothing.”

Ouch.

My heart twinged with the reveal of my replacement, but I couldn’t blame her. After the breakup, I hid myself away from even King’s family.

King frowned. “Jasmine?—”

“It’s okay,” I assured him. “Thanks for coming to support.”

“How’s hockey?”

“Ugh, the guys made fun of me in the locker room,” I muttered.

Dressing up for the exhibition was the part I was most prepared for. I had a short white skirt, a big Gladiators shirt tied at the waist, white boots, bright purple eyeshadow, and a purple bow in my hair. I couldn’t represent Gladiators more if I walked around with one of their helmets.

But when I showed up, Bear took one look at me and asked if I knew the arena had to be kept cold or if I expected them to start swimming.

“I’m running to the dorm to grab a hoodie,” I confessed. “It’s my first big hockey thing, I’m so scattered.”

King just pulled off his Romans hoodie and motioned for me to raise my arms. My best friend was so good to me. I knew arguing with him wouldn’t do anything, so I accepted the XXXXXXXL gift that was more like a big, cozy blanket than a hoodie.

“You’re the best, you know that?” I grinned but King frowned. With a glance over my shoulder, I saw who he was focused on.

Bear stood frozen at the archway, suited up for the game. For a beat too long, he stared, and the hairs on the back of my neck rose. He cleared his throat. “Denali’s going to make a speech. Cleo—uh—wants you.”

I said my goodbyes to King and Jasmine, all too aware of Bear.

He got my attention in the hallway to the locker room. “You can’t wear that,” he insisted. “That’s Romans gear.”

“You did a whole thing about how I?—”

“But you can’t wear that .”

I tried to pass him, but Bear put his hand to the wall, stopping me. I threw him a hard look. “What else should I wear?”

“I have a hoodie in my locker.”

Bear gazed down with this deep intensity that brought goosebumps over my body. With a shake of my head, I ducked under his arm—pretty easy to do considering how tall he was. “Uh, no. Because we both know what that means. If I wear your hoodie, it’s waving a flag saying we had sex.”

“You’re wearing his hoodie,” he retorted, right on my heels.

“It’s different.”

“How is that different?”

“Because he’s my best friend,” I shot over my shoulder. “I don’t like you, Bear. Why would I wear your hoodie?”

The entrance to the locker room came up but Bear snagged my elbow, pulling me away. “So you’re not parading around in football gear in a hockey arena.”

“I am a football girl?—”

“No, you're not.” He dipped down with a hard shake of his head, cutting the distance between us. “Don’t be naive. The moment you signed with the Gladiators, that changed. You’re with us.”

A man with curly hair and wire-framed glasses interrupted. “Do you know who picked the music today?”

I jumped. I didn’t even notice him coming up, this man who looked…oddly familiar. “Uh…I think Elijah made the playlist.”

Bear’s mouth fell open at the newcomer as he walked away. “That’s—that’s Coach.”

“What?”

“Coach Vernon!” Bear jogged after him, glancing around the hallway. “He disappeared. Is he a ghost? You saw him too, right?”

“That’s Coach Vernon? ” I blinked. “Did he get a perm?”

“You saw him too!” Bear gave me a dumbfounded look and broke into the locker room. “Denali! I saw Coach!”

Denali snorted. “And I found Sasquatch.”

“I saw him too,” I said.

“What? Coach Vernon? ”

Another man with a clipboard walked in who I had definitely never met before. “Listen up, we have Coach Vernon with some words.”

The team shared surprised looks with each other. There’d literally been no sign of their coach, and Cleo and I had kept surveillance on his supposed whereabouts. Yet there he was. Sauntering in like he did that every day, while players audibly stumbled back.

Coach Vernon clapped his hands. “Guys, you did your best out there?—”

“We haven’t gone out yet, Coach,” Denali stopped him.

“You haven’t?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

I gazed around the room for Cleo and spotted her, hurrying up with a stack of papers in hand. “Coach Vernon! All of the Colo’s coaches have to agree to renovations before we can hire outside help,” she panted, holding up a thick packet. “I need your initials, and we can hire a crew to fix?—”

“Fix what?” Coach Vernon blinked.

Lights dimmed overhead and the hockey players shuffled, craning their necks to watch as the room darkened. Montoya dropped his skates as dust sprinkled from the ceiling.

Coach cleared his throat. “That’s part of the charm!”

“We need to fix the Colo,” I insisted, maneuvering around the team. “If you sign the papers, we can use the budget to?—”

“Let’s not talk about wasting money,” he chided me and gestured beyond the archway at what appeared to be a very disinterested teenage boy. His blonde hair was shaved so short, he looked almost bald in the darkness. “This is Riley Townsend, he’s the last player on your roster.”

“Is he a freshman?” Elijah asked. “Or does he just look like that?”

“He’s a freshman.”

“I’m also a freshman!” Montoya waved. “I’m Montoya!”

“I’m a freshman but I could roundhouse kick all of your asses,” Riley spat. “I don’t give a fuck.”

Elijah’s grin stretched. “Ooo, yeah. This is going to be fun.”