Page 104 of The Defender

“Uh, a variety of them.”

This had to be as uncomfortable for him as it was for me. I was convinced Coach was doing this for the sole purpose of making me sweat.

“Like?” he persisted.

Of course, I forgot the name of every game I’d ever played. I scrambled for the easiest answer. “Twister?”

I wanted to take it back the second it left my mouth. Playing Twister at midnight was basically a euphemism for sex. Only an idiot would think otherwise.

Coach’s eyes bore into mine.Merde, he was definitely flaying me alive in his mind—and probably roasting me over a fire for good measure.

Thankfully, he didn’t pursue that line of questioning, but he did give me a smile that set off every alarm bell in my head.

“Fine, but I forgot to tell you, I’m changing our daily schedule,” he said. “Since you had so much fun in Budapest, we need to whip you back in shape for our Boxing Day match. Meet me here at four a.m. sharp. We’re going to Blackcastle for a field run.”

Four a.m. was in less than two hours. Was he human or simply a Coach-shaped monster fueled by spite?

I groaned, but I didn’t argue.

Fucking field runs. Ihatedthose drills, and he knew it.

Even so, when I walked upstairs and finally crashed, I felt lighter than I had in months.

Brooklyn and I were together. Coach knew and tolerated it. I was one step closer to getting the Zenith deal, and I’d raised forty thousand pounds for charity in one night.

Life didn’t get much better than this.

CHAPTER 28

BROOKLYN

I woke up to a smile, deliciously sore muscles, and a note from Vincent saying he’d gone back to my dad’s house during the night.

Normally, I’d be more upset about a guy leaving in the middle of the night after we had sex for the first time, but I felt a curious sense of calm as I rolled out of bed and got ready for the day.

No anxiety, no worries, no insecurities. Last night’s talk put all that to rest. I trusted Vincent, and given his living situation, it made sense why he had to leave.

I was dying to update my friends, but today was the last day to submit my ISNA application. Instead of texting the group chat immediately, I buckled down, put on my productivity glasses, and banged out the rest of my personal statement in the kitchen.

I wasn’t sure if it was the endorphins from last night, the copious amounts of coffee, or sheer delusion, but after weeks of tearing my hair out over it, I ended up with a decent essay. It wasn’t the best thing I’d ever written, but it was pretty solid, in my opinion.

I pressed Submit, and a confirmation message instantly popped up.

Congratulations! You’ve successfully submitted your application. All applicants will be notified of their status in late January or February.

That was it. It was done.

I took off my glasses and rubbed my eyes. I should resume my job search now that I was on a roll, but scrolling through the postings was pretty depressing. Everyone wanted crazy qualifications in exchange for shit pay and minimal benefits. I might’ve been able to live with that and work my way up if any of the positions sounded remotely interesting, but they didn’t.

Before my Blackcastle offer, I’d applied to anything and everything, but rejecting the offer helped me realize that I didn’t want just “anything.” I wanted a role I wasexcitedabout. I just had to figure out what that was.

Maybe I should look up what my old classmates from grad school were doing. It could?—

Wait a minute.I sat up straight. I’d gotten my master’s degree in sports nutrition three years ago, but alumni were welcome to use the career center’s resources after they graduated. Why hadn’t I thought about reaching out to them before? It seemed like such a simple solution.

Granted, my program was based in the US, so its connections in London might be limited, but it was worth a shot. It couldn’t be worse than doom scrolling through LinkedIn.

I pulled up my old career counselor’s email and sent her a quick message. I was about to check out my school’s online alumni directory when someone knocked on the door.