Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Beside me, Case lets out a soft snort.
“There’s only one thing that matters,” continues Coach/Hollis/Mike, “so I need all you boys to open your ears and really listen to me right now, okay? With your ears.”
Case and I exchange a look. I’m still not quite sure what to make of this dude. He seems…colorful.
And I suddenly remember where I’ve seen him. He was leaving Jensen’s office the day I came to talk to Coach about my dad’s intrusive interviews.
Speaking of interviews, I have one today after practice. The writer from Capitol Magazine finally managed to pin me down with a date.
“My daughters are off-limits, you hear me?” Hollis’s stern eyes conduct a sweep of the locker room. “The twins and Anika are too young for you, so don’t even fucking look at them. But RJ is age appropriate—especially don’t look at her. This is nonnegotiable. My wife will murder you without hesitation. She is a scary woman. Now what’s the rule?”
There’s a murmur of confusion. The rule? What is this man babbling about? Nobody cares about his daughters.
“Let’s all repeat the rule,” he says, gesturing for us to speak. When everyone continues to stare at him, he grumbles in irritation. “Say after me: your daughters are off-limits.”
After a beat, a chorus of voices rings through the room.
“Your daughters are off-limits.”
“…off-limits,” finishes Patrick, who came into the chant late.
“You’re good boys,” Hollis says, nodding firmly. “All right, gear up.”
Chatter fills the room again, everyone turning toward their lockers to get ready. In the stall next to me, Ryder peels his sweatshirt off. His head pops free at the same time as our new assistant coach ambles over.
“Hey! Luke! You remember me from your wedding, right?”
Ryder dons a blank face. I don’t blame him. There were about five hundred people at his wedding. Against his will, of course. Gigi’s dad was in charge of the guest list.
“My pants ripped on the dance floor when I did the splits?” Coach Hollis prompts. “Tore right at the crotch?”
“Oh yeah!” Shane exclaims from the other end of the bench. “I remember that! Those were some killer splits, bro.”
Shane sounds like he means that. Shit, I guess Diana really did turn him into a dancer. I’m both impressed and afraid.
Hollis takes another step, officially encroaching on Ryder’s space cushion.
Ryder’s expression doesn’t change, but I can tell he’s on the alert, wondering what this overly enthusiastic man wants from him.
“Listen,” Hollis says, his tone grave enough to raise my concern. “I need you to talk to Garrett for me.”
“What about?” Ryder asks, his forehead creased.
“I want access to Dad Chat.”
“Oh. Uh, sorry, Coach, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Dad Chat!” Hollis sputters. I can’t tell if he’s outraged or upset. Maybe both. “It’s by invite only, and those assholes won’t let me join. Fitzy got in because of the Di Laurentis connection. Connelly’s in because he’s basically trying to fight Logan for G’s number-one best friend slot, but Logan ain’t gonna take it standing up.”
“Lying down,” I correct.
Hollis blinks in confusion. “Huh?”
“The phrase is ‘won’t take it lying down.’”
“Why the fuck would anyone be lying down for a fight?”
I’m about to explain, but Hollis makes another impatient noise and continues.
“So I said, fine, I’ll be the bigger man. I don’t need to be in the chat. Me and Conor can start our own chat. We’re not close but we can be. Nobody says we can’t be.”
“Who is Conor?” I hear someone whisper.
I have no idea.
“And then I find out Conor got into the chat last year! Jake added him because they’re married to sisters.” Hollis growls. “How is it my fault I’m not related to any of these assholes? What? I should have nailed Dean’s sister instead of marrying my wife? Is that it? Do they want me to divorce my wife?”
“I’m going to leave now,” Shane says, and then he brazenly just…leaves.
Ryder, Beck, and I remain, somehow locked into this conversation despite the precedent Shane just set. We could hurry up and throw our pads on, but nobody does.
“Uh, I can text him later if you want,” Ryder tells our new assistant coach.
“Do it now. I’ll wait.”
“Um. Yeah. Okay, bro. Sure.” Ryder gives us a look, then reaches for his phone.
After practice, I shower and change into my street clothes and drive back to Hastings. I chose Della’s as the venue for our interview because I don’t want some random DC journalist over at my house.
The bell above the door dings when I enter. I stop, scanning the brightly lit diner until my gaze lands on the likeliest candidate for out-of-towner. The woman in the back booth has that city feel to her. Glossy, perfectly styled hair, impeccable makeup, and a white silk blouse that looks tailored to her slight frame.
She notices me at the door and lifts her hand in a brisk wave.