Page 31

I spot an email from Victoria Hartley.

I delete it without bothering to look at it.

I missed a call from her earlier, too. I deleted the voicemail without listening to it.

The meeting begins. Coach Thompson is up in front of what’s basically a large lecture room in the Aces practice facility, and he’s saying some stuff about how thankful he is that we all showed up even though it’s the offseason.

“I have an important man to introduce to you now. We worked together years ago when I was at Oklahoma, and he’s the real deal. Your new offensive coordinator, Mr. Mike Sharp,” he says, and the twenty or so guys gathered here in the room clap for our new OC.

“Thank you, Coach,” Mike says, nodding and waving as he heads over toward the lectern. They shake hands when they meet in the middle, and Coach takes a seat to listen to whatever Mike has to say to us. “I’m pleased to be here with the Aces organization, and I can’t begin to tell you how excited I am to work with such a talented group of men. I’ve spent half my career developing a playbook that I am thrilled to be able to use with you this season, and you may have seen some of those ideas in your files already. If you haven’t, start learning. Start visualizing. We have a long road ahead of us, and I can’t wait to see what you bring to the table at camp this July. I will say this a thousand times over, and today is the first time you’ll hear it from me. We’re in this together, men. You work with me, not for me, and whatever comes at us, together we can handle it.”

This cheesy yet inspirational speech is met with cheers from the men gathered here, and he says some more shit but I’m not really listening because Cory is next to me fucking around on his phone. He glances over at my profile and whispers, “Gridiron after?”

A dude’s gotta eat, and my girl is at a sleepover, which means this is the first night I’ve had off since the last time I was at the Gridiron.

Was that really only two weeks ago?

It feels like a fucking lifetime has passed. Or maybe I’ve just aged over the last two weeks.

I glance back at him and nod.

“Fuck yeah,” he whispers with glee, and I have a feeling he’s going to take the night far past the Gridiron. I suppose my self-imposed statute of limitations has expired where Coax is concerned. I’m game to get out some of the sexual frustration I’ve been feeling over the last two weeks even if it means heading a half hour out into the middle of the desert to the exclusive night club where my membership is still valid even though it’s been a while since I’ve been there.

Austin agrees to go, too, and so does Josh along with a Thursday night crew regular, running back Jaxon Bryant, and another wide receiver, Cason Swanson. It’s a group of six, but only four of us are members of Coax, which means Cory won’t bring it up until Josh and Cason leave since we all signed NDAs agreeing not to talk about the club with anyone who isn’t a member.

Josh seems a little too wholesome for a club like that, and Cason is a younger guy on the team who has a long-term girlfriend, so a nightclub with sex suites on the top floor doesn’t really seem like it’s in his bag.

Cory texts the bartender to let him know we’re coming, which means he’ll reserve us a table somewhere so we can drink a lot of alcohol and get loud and have some fun.

Fun is exactly what I need. It’s been two weeks of heaviness and new routines and changes, and as much as I miss that little girl, and as guilty as I feel to even think it…I’m sort of grateful for a night off. I’m sort of grateful to just feel like myself again.

The meeting ends, and we all wait our turn to shake the hand of our new OC, and then the six of us cross the street from the Complex over to the Gridiron.

It looks the same when I walk in. It smells the same—stale beer and yeast mixed with the overpowering scent of whatever bleach is in the cleaning solution they use to wipe down the tables plus too much perfume and cologne mingling together in the musky air.

Fuck yeah. I missed this disgusting smell more than I realized.

We head toward the table the bartender points us to. It’s a booth in the back corner. Austin slides into the booth, and then Cory follows, and I’m on the end. Jaxon, Josh, and Cason sit across from us. It’s a huge booth meant for a party of ten or so, but it works for us so we can spread out.

Debbie, my favorite waitress at this old joint because she’s fast and efficient and knows what we want, comes over and eyes the six of us. “The usual, boys?”

A rousing round of cheers lifts from our table, and she eyes us each as she ticks off our preferences. She points to me first. “Tequila rocks?”

I nod, and she looks at Cory next. “Guinness?”

He nods, and she moves on. We each order some food, too, and she returns with our drinks a few minutes later.

The first drink goes down quick, so I order a second. Our food comes, and I scarf down my pizza with some more tequila. You’d think the pizza would be enough of a buffer to soak up some of the alcohol, but it’s not. I order my fourth round, and it’s when Debbie is walking away that I spot long blonde hair and a cute ass standing by the bar.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” I say as I stand and start in the direction of the blonde so I can shoot my shot. I’ve been turned down exactly once at this bar, so I feel like my chances are pretty good here.

I sidle up to her ready to hit her with a line when she turns in my direction, and my jaw drops clean down to the floor.

“Oh,” I say at the same time her face breaks out into a wide grin.

“Mr. Woods,” the woman says to me.

“Ms. Miller,” I reply, a little stunned that I was just about to hit on Harper’s teacher.

Wait a minute, though…

Would that really be so bad?

Yes. It would be.

She’s hot, though, and maybe I never noticed because I’ve been so damn distracted by the reading teacher.

“What brings you to this side of town?” I ask rather than hitting her with a line like I was about to.

“Oh, just out for a drink with a friend. A little relaxation after a long week with those fifth graders.” The bartender pushes a drink across the counter, and she holds it up in a little toast before she takes a long sip.

“I can’t imagine,” I say. It’s strange enough for me to deal with one fifth grader. I can’t imagine a whole class of them.

“How’s she doing?” Mandy asks. When I look confused for a beat, she clarifies. “Harper, I mean.”

“Oh, right. She’s at Bella’s house for a sleepover, and she’s doing fine. I checked in on her about an hour ago. There was a meeting across the street this evening affecting anyone on offense so I’m just out with a group of my buddies.” I’m not sure why I’m rambling, so I redirect. “Where’s your friend?”

The bartender chooses that moment to push a margarita across the bar to Ms. Miller, and she picks it up and uses it to point toward the barstools at the far end of the counter.

I follow the line to where she’s indicating, and that’s when I spot her.

My heart drops and my chest tightens.

The one girl who has ever rejected me in this bar sits there with a sour look on her face and her eyes squinted into a glare landing directly on me.

Just fucking great.

It feels like my night off with the boys just turned into something else entirely.