Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
“Yes,” Jeremy said. “Connors is their starting goalkeeper.”
“And you’re Jean Moreau,” Connors said, sizing Jean up. “I’ve heard so much about you. My condolences, of course, that you ended up with the Trojans. Whose idea was it to put a rhino in a tea shop?” Jean looked at Jeremy, blank-faced, and Jeremy drew horns in front of his face with a finger. Connors understood the issue immediately and said, “A brute like you needs a team that will encourage your talents. You should have come north.”
“To Pennsylvania?” Jean asked.
“To Spokane,” Connors stressed. The noise Jean made put a sharp edge in Connors’ smile, and the goalkeeper could fill in the blanks easily enough: “You don’t think we’re good enough for you, but USC doesn’t even appreciate you properly. Slotting you into the second line? How embarrassing.”
“Better to be second line here than traded to a dead end there,” Jean said. It took the smile off Connors’ face, but Jean wasn’t done. He gave a dismissive flick of his fingers and said, “I have heard enough about you to know you are no different from Penn State or Edgar Allan. You rely on size and aggression to win your games. It is easy and satisfying, and I have seen it all before. If I am to improve, I must try something new. This is the only team that matters.”
“That’s bullshit,” Connors said.
“I am perfect Court. I cannot be wrong about Exy.”
“No one here actually believes this, right?” Connors looked at the Trojans and Wildcats that were watching this exchange with tense interest. Connors waved expansively at the two men sitting across from him and insisted, “We all know the real reason you’re at USC. Don’t we, Wilshire?”
Jeremy knew better than to take the bait, but he still said, “Enlighten us, Connors.”
Luckily for all of them, Torres returned then. “Ass out of my chair.”
Connors shrugged him off. “I’ll go in a second.”
“One,” Torres said, and gave his chair a hard shake. He kept his stare on Connors’ head but pointed across the table at Lander. “Rethink whatever you’re about to say. I will beat your ass six ways from Sunday in front of God and the ERC if you two don’t get away from my team. We assigned you across the room for a reason.”
Connors made sure to slam the chair into Torres as he stood up. More than one Wildcat got up, ready to throw hands if needed, but Connors kept his stare on Jeremy’s upturned face and only said, “Good seeing you again. I’ll tell Dex you said hello.”
“Give me his new number and I’ll tell him myself,” Jeremy suggested, and Laila nearly crushed his hand in warning. Jeremy ignored it, more interested in the venom bleeding into Connors’ expression. Jeremy finally found his smile again and affected an easy tone to say, “We’ll see you on the court next week. I’m sure it’ll be fun.”
Torres barely waited for Connors to move before taking his chair again, and he frowned down at his placemat. “The hell is this?” he demanded, pointing to the lines of sugar Connors left behind. “Who’s doing blow at my table, or do I even need to ask?”
His backliner laughed and showed off his collection of sticks. “It’s candy, cap. Look!”
Jeremy had practiced Jean’s phrase to perfection, but it was all a jumbled mess now. The best he managed was a casual, “Bum one?” to Torres as he yanked free of Laila and got up from his seat. He half-expected his former teammate to refuse, but after a beat Torres passed his pack of cigarettes over. It was heavy enough Jeremy knew the lighter was inside, so he smiled his thanks and turned away.
Jean snagged his wrist. “Do not.”
Jeremy tested his bruising grip. “Walk with me.”
The look on Jean’s face said he didn’t want to humor this tantrum, but at last Jean let go. Jeremy set off without waiting for him, and the weight of too many stares followed him to the door.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jeremy
The sweltering heat outside did nothing to improve Jeremy’s mood, but at least he could breathe easier. A charter bus pulled up to the door as he pushed through it, dropping off the second-to-last team at the convention center. Northern Arizona, most likely; Jeremy couldn’t think of any other teams close enough to travel in their banquet clothes. He lingered only long enough to hold the door for Jean, then headed down the length of the building as quickly as he could go.
Halfway down he finally stopped and sat on the curb. Jean immediately stole the cigarettes from him and chucked them to one side. Jeremy sighed and shifted to go after them, but Jean clapped both hands down on his shoulders to hold him still. Incredulity and disapproval put a harsh bite in his words when he insisted, “You are not this stupid.”