“This is a joke, right? You want me in dance?” I have to swallow my laughter when he gives me the eye, the no bullshit stare down.
Such shit. How am I going to fit this in on top of everything else?
He sits up straight and glares at me, removing his hat, revealing his shiny bald spot. His brow is crinkled with the lines of the wisdom he’s about to lay on me. “You don’t do dance, you don’t get to play. I’ll bench you, but you need to be in shape for our opening game. And I don’t need to remind you that the draft is coming up, it’ll be here before you know it. If they get wind of that ankle, don’t think they won’t hesitate to pass you over. You know the scouts will be lining up to see you play.”
“This is bullshit,” I mutter, jaw clenching. I toss the paper back on his desk. There’s no way I’m prancing around like a pansy.
“When I was in the NFL I had to do the same thing. Most players took dance to help them on the field. Just like with Hockey, most of the greats had to take figure skating.”
Shit.
“Any of the other guys have to do this too?” I ask him, praying he’ll say I’m not the only one.
He nods. “Three others on the team already are in dance class. Have been for years.” This information shocks me, I wonder why no one said anything? Oh, I know, because it’s embarrassing as fuck. “You, Bucky, and Adams will all be doing this for the rest of the semester. I’ve already assigned everyone with the appropriate dance partner, and you will report there first thing tomorrow to meet her. The sooner you start the better.” His voice doesn’t waver. It’s full of authority. He has me by the balls and he knows it. He shoves the paper in my direction, and I know I have no choice but to accept it.
I stand up, clenching the paper in my fist, and head out. When my parents find out about this they’ll be making fun of me for years. I’ll never be able to live this down. Most people assume being the star gets me special treatment, if anything it gets me anything but. Coach rides my ass, but I know he wants me to succeed. It doesn’t mean I have to like his method.
I trudge back to my dorm, crumpled paper in hand. Bucky probably knew coach was pulling this shit. Asshole could’ve warned me. I take the stairs two at a time. I fit in exercise wherever I can. My body is a damn temple. I play hard and work even harder. I have to keep my stamina up. I can’t afford to slack off, ever. The ache in my ankle serves as a reminder.
Back in my dorm, Big Tex is stretched out on the couch playing Fallout 4. That dude looks like he could eat a damn bear. He makes up two of me. I don’t know how he sleeps in that tiny ass bed. His shoulders are like big ass boulders.
He’s always got some artery clogging food in his hand. “Where you been?” He takes a bite of his pizza; his green eyes widen at my angry scowl.
“Had a meeting with coach.” I debate showing him the embarrassing piece of paper I’m clutching, but I am saved from deciding when my phone rings.
“Hey mom,” I greet the number one woman in my life, the only woman, walking to the solace of my room. I toss my cap on my desk and hold my phone from my ear while I shrug my hoodie off. She’s always checking up on me. I’m not in the mood for talking so I make up an excuse to get her off the phone. “I’m walking into Coach’s office. I’ll have to call you back.”
“Okay, call me later. Love you.”
“Love you too, mom.”
I sigh, feeling bad for lying, but I got this dance shit boiling my blood.
Hanging up the phone, I grab my laptop. Peering out my door, I see Big Tex is still engrossed in his game and oblivious to my presence. I uncrinkle the paper, seeing the chick’s name at the top, and search for Amaya Maxwell in our school directory.
Her face pops up. She’s pretty, like I should recognize her. I hope I haven’t slept with her. I study her face trying to place where I know her from and then it hits me. Ugh, shit. I knew the name and that heart-shaped face was familiar but couldn’t place either. As I look at her face though, I know exactly who she is. She dated that piece of shit, Keith. Apparently, they’d dated since our freshman year, but hell, no one knew he even had a girlfriend. Not until she showed up at our end of semester party last year and found Keith doing what he does best. Fucking freshman.
He’s such a loser. I’m surprised he’s still on the team. Dude never sees the game from anywhere other than the bench. After that party, Keith would just bitch about her. She was a dead fish in bed, and he needed more than that, or how she was such a stuck-up bitch. I remember Adams asking him why he bothered keeping her and he just said something about it made it him look good to his parents.
Not a surprise. If what Keith said about her is true, anyone with high class snotty bitch mothers would adore her.
Just what I need, a chick I don’t want to bone. Although, that’s probably the best thing to happen, so I don’t piss off Coach.
Stealing Conleigh : Part 2 (Stealing Love ) Page 10