Page 65 of The Trouble with You (Rixon Raiders 1)

“Coach Hasson,” he confessed, yanking on his tie as if the thing was too damn tight.

“Is Mom going?”

“She is. She wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Of course not. I swallowed the words.

“I know things haven’t always been easy between you and Jason, but I’m really hoping that now we’re married, things will—”

“Good morning.” Mom breezed into the kitchen looking far too bright and alert for seven thirty in the morning.

“Good morning, wife.” Kent grabbed her as she passed him and kissed her with more gusto than I needed to witness. Ever.

“Do you mind?” I snorted.

Mom’s dreamy gaze slid to mine. “Morning, baby.” Her cheeks were flushed, and she sounded a little breathless. Gross. “How are you?”

“I was okay until you came in and started sucking face with Kent.”

“Did he tell you the good news?” She beamed, untangling herself from his arms and making a beeline for the coffee maker.

“You’re going to let me

go to New York for my eighteenth birthday?”

“Nice try, but no, sweetheart. We have tickets for tomorrow’s game.”

“Oh, that.” I gritted my teeth.

“Hailee, this is important to—”

“Jason. Yeah, yeah, I already heard a very compelling argument from Kent. If I agree to go, will you at least think about letting me go to New York?” One of my favorite artists had an exhibition coming up at The Met that I really wanted to see.

My mom and Kent shared a glance and he gave her a little nod. “Fine,” she said. “If you come to the game Friday and the dinner Coach Hasson is throwing afterward, then yes, we’ll think about it.”

Dinner at Coach Hasson’s? With the whole team and their families. I’d need reinforcements. “Is there a spare ticket for Flick?”

“I’m perfectly aware the two of you come as a package deal, Hailee.” Kent gave me a warm smile. “Tell her we’ll pick her up before the game.”

“Fine, then you have yourself a deal.”

A football game, and dinner at Coach Hasson’s house, in exchange for a trip to New York for my birthday.

It was a small price to pay.

Later that day, I had a free period, so I headed to the studio. I’d only been there all of fifteen minutes when Mr. Jalin’s voice echoed through the room. “Ah, Hailee.”

Dropping the brush onto the easel, I spun my chair to face him, pushing my glasses up onto my head. “Hi, Sir.”

“Nice.” His thick-browed gaze swept over my canvas. “That’s looking really nice, Hailee. I particularly like what you’ve done with the broad strokes.” He moved closer, tracing the thick brush marks with his fingers, careful not to get too close. “You’ll be using this for your final submission piece?”

“I think so.”

“Good choice.” He offered me a reassuring smile. “I think you’ll do just fine.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Now for the real reason I’m here.” Clasping his hands behind his back, Mr. Jalin regarded me with a reserved expression. “You’re a very talented artist, Hailee. One of the best I’ve ever seen come through the doors of Rixon High. Coach Hasson and I were talking, and he wondered if this year, for the Seniors Night presentation, we tried something a little different.”