Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 125852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
“Alister.”
Coach nods, a glare quickly forming. “The kid is struggling with the camaraderie of things. That won’t make leading this team these next two weeks any easier on him.”
“What do you want us to do, kiss his ass? The guy is a dickhead half the time, Coach,” Chase complains, crossing his arms.
Coach isn’t aware of the beef we have, but it’s obvious we have one. Shit, we wouldn’t be in this office right now if it weren’t.
“Not kiss his ass but listen when he speaks. Offer ideas. Show the team you’re willing to follow him, and in turn, they’ll follow you.”
Chase looks to Mason, who nods. He lets out a sigh and turns to Coach. “Yeah, all right, whatever. This week should be an easy win even if we don’t use pass game, but next week will be tough.”
Coach agrees, pinning me with an expectant expression.
“What?” I shrug. “I’m on defense now. This has nothing to do with me. I don’t have to hold his hand.”
Coach scoffs, shaking his head. “Wrong, kid. I’m moving your training schedule to align with his.”
“What?” I shoot forward in my seat. “Coach. No.”
Mason laughs and I flip him off.
“Coach, you do know Brady’s sleeping with Alister’s ex, right?” Chase smirks.
Dipshit.
Coach groans, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Of fucking course you are, Lancaster.”
This is one of those times I don’t mind all the rumors.
“See?” I grin. “I’m more likely to let him get crushed by weights than help him any.”
“You worked Mason through his program all last season and, from what you yourself told me, all offseason too.” He raises a brow.
“I did. Been doing that since I was twelve. This is different.”
“It’s no different. The kid needs someone who will push him, and if it can’t be Mason, it has to be you.”
“Why not Chase? He knows the entire routine.”
Chase throws his hands up as if to say what the hell, man, but I ignore him. If someone’s getting thrown under this bus, I’d rather it be him.
Love him, but no.
“It’s done and you won’t argue.” Coach has laid down the law, pulling out a folder and flipping it open. “I already checked in on your grades, and you’re on top of shit, so I’m excusing you from all study hall sessions for the next two weeks. You’ll spend that time working with Howl.”
“Damn, Brady, how good are your grades to get a two-week pass?” Mason looks over. “I had to make up the hour I missed when Deaton got sick.”
I shrug, but Coach is eager to share.
“Your boy here has a 4.0. Ended last semester with the same.”
My friends’ brows jump, but I just shrug again and change the subject. “When are you telling the punk?”
He glares at my word choice but looks at his watch. “He’ll be walking in while you’re walking out.”
“You mean we don’t get to see the look on his face when you tell him I’m his new backpack?”
“Out, assholes. Mason stays.”
Together, we head out of the coach’s office. As Coach predicted, we’re exiting the main doors just as Alister is approaching.
He frowns in confusion but quickly wipes it away, nodding hello before slipping inside.
Chase and I stop a few feet from the entrance, both of our shoulders falling.
“Fuckin’ great, man,” he mumbles, running his hands through his hair. “I was supposed to get a good boost in my receiving yards next week against Brighton.”
I shake my head, knowing that’s not likely anymore. Fucking Alister won’t pass half as much as Mason does.
“You gonna tell your girlfriend her ex-boyfriend is your new buddy?”
I shove Chase, and he chuckles.
We start heading back to the football house in silence, and I catch Chase staring at me from the corner of my eye a few times.
“What?”
He shrugs and looks away, but I scoff.
“Just spit it out, asshole.”
“Just wondering how all that’s going…you and Cam.”
“It’s all fun and games, man.”
Chase points his grin forward, nodding lightly. “Okay.”
“Okay.” I nod back.
But I guess he’s right—I should probably let her know I’m going to be working with Alister this week. Not that she’ll care.
She’s not worried about what he’s got going on, so it’s not like it will matter anyway. She won’t suddenly want to wear his number or hang out with him again now that he’s going to be the starting QB.
Not that I would mind if she did.
My lips pinch together, and I frown forward.
Nope, I wouldn’t mind it one bit.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Brady
I mind. I fucking mind, and I don’t know why.
I also don’t know how to stop. It’s dumb.
Really fucking dumb. And thinking about it is pissing me off even more.
The dickwad is over there, leaning over the ledge of the fucking bleachers, his arms folded, the skin of his arm touching her jean-clad thigh as she’s sitting on the thick cement wall that separates the field from the stands.