by Ella Fox
Out of Formation
Ella Fox
Out of Formation
© 2017 Ella Fox
Contents
Out of Formation
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Ella Fox
Preview of I DON’T
Preview of I WANT
Sin’s Temptation Excerpt
Out of Formation
Star cheerleader Elena Murray has had a crush on Colin Findlay for most of her life. She was sure he had no interest in her— right up until the night came when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Unfortunately an unexpected revelation followed by a misunderstanding brought their evening to an abrupt end.
For more than two months Elena believed there was no chance she and Colin could ever be together.
And then he turned up at her university as the new head coach for the football team.
Chapter 1
Elena - Present
My backpack is in the process of sliding down my arm when Becky Hillstrom—of the acclaimed Virginia Hillstroms, she frequently brags— starts one of her infamous inquisitions. The way she fires off questions is in no way surprising since everyone I know jokingly refers to her as The Interviewer. She never stops.
“How was your uniform fitting? Did you get that body butter I told you about with the shimmer, the one that doesn’t smell like alcohol? And last but not least, tell me you took the time to read Julia's email.”
I nod as I set my bag on the floor and slide into my seat.
“Which one is a yes?” she asks.
I let out a little laugh as I unzip my bag to pull out my iPad, a notebook, and a pen, all of which I set out on the desk.
“Most of the above,” I answer. “My fitting went well—no gains since last year, so I didn’t get any crap from Mandy. The body butter is just as good as you said it would be, I’m so excited I finally found one that complements my apricot and honey body wash. As far as Julia’s email goes, I got it on my way here but didn’t even have time to skim it. Feel like breaking it down for me or should I start reading?”
The way Becky’s face lights up tells me that whatever the email says, it’s exciting and she cannot wait to fill me in. Her expression suggests it’s either significant team news or unbelievably juicy gossip.
When she dramatically leans closer to my desk, I’m sure there’s gossip involved. “I freaking knew you wouldn't have read it! Honey, prepare yourself because I am about to give you some knowledge.”
I snort out a laugh. “Hit me,” I joke. No doubt this is gossip based, but I'm betting it’s nothing too good because this is the first day of our senior year in college. There hasn’t been time for anything exciting to happen with our group since a lot of people only arrived back in town over the last few days.
Since I spent the majority of the last eight weeks camped out on the couch at home trying to get over a broken heart, I’ve been pretty oblivious. Not anymore, though. As of today, I’ve officially pulled my head out of my ass, and I am going to get back into the swing of things. No more sad sack me. From now on, everything is going to be positive.
“Coach Adams got fired. F-I-R-E-D fired,” Becky announces dramatically.
My brows shoot up as I take in the information. Coach Adams has been the head coach of the Tigers for the last thirty years. In this town, he is to football as God is to earth. There’s a freaking statue of him out in the front quad for goodness sake, and each year there is a parade in his honor after the last game of the season. In the three seasons I’ve been a cheerleader for the university I’ve never heard anything less than reverential about him, which honestly has always struck me as a bit weird. Personally, I’ve always found him a bit pompous and a lot stiff, but that’s just me.
Football is a serious moneymaker here. Having a Division I football team and an award-winning cheerleading squad is a big deal to the university, and Coach Adams's high profile has gotten the football team and the cheer squad a lot of money for equipment and travel over the years. Whether he’s the warmest guy in the world or not, he’s like a religion in this town and on this campus. I can’t imagine the athletic department without him at the helm.
The more I think it over, the easier it is for me to conclude that Becky is wrong. There’s no way Coach Adams is gone. I’m pretty confident he could run around the quad naked, and no one would say a word.
“Wait a minute,” I say, my tone dripping with suspicion. “You’re pulling my leg, right?”
Becky shakes her head. “No,” she whispers emphatically. “He had an affair with a student last year and then dumped them during the summer. Apparently, it wasn’t the first time he’s slept with a student—but it was the first time the student he dumped had pictures and video to share with the administration. It was also the first time Coach Adams was dumb enough to have had an affair with someone who comes from a family full of major donors to the university. Even though technically the student is now an alumnus, it’s provable that the affair took place over the course of their senior year.”
It’s the juiciest thing to happen here since ever. I’m shocked but also endlessly curious about who Coach Adams had an affair with. “Shut. Up,” I whisper-squeak. “Does anyone know who the student was?”
When Becky’s eyes light up as she grins like a Cheshire Cat I can tell she’s been waiting for this very question. “That shitty little ass-grabber, Michael. Freaking. Simmons.”
Swear, my eyes bulge out of my head for like four seconds. Maybe even five. My brain rejects her assertion in the most definitive of ways. Michael Simmons was one of the biggest douchebags on campus. He graduated last year, but for the three years he was on campus when I was, he managed to hit on or have sex with every girl I know. “There’s no way—”
“Bible, this is the truth,” Becky assures me. “I thought everything you’re thinking right now when I found out. Captain of the football team, future president, Mr. Never-Without-a-Girl-on-His-Arm and voted Most Likely to Have Five Wives is at least bi, if not gay. To say he hid it well is an understatement.”
“How is no one talking about this on Facebook or Snapchat? Both are like gossip central to this school,” I point out.
“It’s because the whole thing is just starting to leak out now. By later tonight, social media and the entire campus will be on fire with gossip since we’ll all be getting read the riot act this afternoon. A lot of this was covered in Julia's email, which you really should have read on general principle alone considering she’s your coach,” she says dryly.
I give a sheepish shrug because it’s not like I can argue the point. She’s right.
“Anyway,” Becky continues, “the staff found out in waves. Julia was told to be on campus two weeks ago for an official meeting of the athletic department. She said she knew right away that calling her in before the school year even started meant something was up, and she wasn’t wrong. Once she and the other team coaches had the info, they were sworn to secrecy. Some of what I know didn’t get covered in the email, but since she is my cousin, I leaned on her until she gave up what she could.”
Becky’s eyes sparkle with excitement as she shifts in her seat, her hands sliding over the bright orange surface of her desk. “The bottom line is that we only know about it now because they’ve canceled all practices today for a mandatory meeting where the dean will be reading the entire athletic department the riot act. Anyone involved in sports here at the college has to attend. They’re going to lay the law down about pers
onal relationships with the coaching staff.”
I flip my hair over my shoulder as I roll my eyes. “Michael Simmons may have dabbled in some ancient ass but come on,” I say dismissively. “Not one of the rest of us is even a little bit attracted to any of the coaching staff. They're all old. The college has absolutely nothing to worry about.”
Becky nods in agreement. “I know,” she whispers dramatically. “Like any of us care about geezers who blow up balls all day.”
I haven't held on to my virginity to lose it to a random coach—not that I’m saying being a virgin right now makes me smart. In fact, quite the opposite. I’ve held onto it because I’m an idiot who has spent far too many years focused on one person—the very one who wants no part of my virginity. I’ve done my best to like other people, including guys here at college that I tried dating but that quickly went nowhere. All of the binge-drinking around campus (and closet steroid use with the athletes) isn't attractive to me at all. Don’t even get me started on how many of them don't know how to do laundry. There’s a smell in the boy’s dorms and apartments that is stomach turning, so staying away from them hasn’t been a problem.
Meanwhile, whenever my friends talk about my virginal state, I lie and tell them that I'm holding out for a business type. It’s a lie. I have—um, had, dammit! Why does my brain not understand that it’s time to use past tense when thinking of him— a major crush on a man who is the epitome of the athletic type, and no one else has ever measured up to him in my eyes. Not even close. After the events that went down two months ago, I’ve decided I need to move on. The harsh insinuation that I’m too young to know what I want was a tough pill to swallow—one that’s still giving me indigestion.
No, I need to focus. And right now, I’ve decided the best thing to do is to set my sights set on what happens after graduation because once I’m out of college, I’ll be meeting and interacting with different men. Surely it will be easier to find someone, right? In a perfect world, Monday through Friday my man will wear a suit, and on Saturdays, he'll wear nothing at all because we'll be busy rolling around in his bed. Sundays will be casual—maybe khaki pants and a button-down that is most definitely not sexy jeans that perfectly emphasize a ridiculously sexy ass or a T-shirt that shows off an unbelievably perfect upper body. Certainly not a chiseled jaw with a perpetual five o’clock shadow, perfectly kissable lips and coppery chocolate colored eyes that make me weak in the knees.
Andddd I’m now thinking of him again. Dammit!
Picturing that body and those see-through-everything eyes, even for a few seconds, makes my heart beat funny in my chest. I do my best to push those thoughts away. I need not to focus on him anymore. When will that get easier? I’m so lost in my thoughts that I startle when Becky taps my shoulder.
Following the finger she's pointed to the front of the room, I realize our professor is writing something on the board. Shaking off my dreams of a perfect future, I open my blank notebook and uncap my pen to take notes as the first class of my senior year gets underway.
Chapter 2
Elena- Present
I had to run all the way across campus to make this meeting on time. I'm not even sure how I managed it, but somehow I did. A quick glance around the gym shows that the bleachers are almost full of cheerleaders, football, baseball, soccer, and basketball players. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see that none of the coaching staff are in place yet, which means I'm not going to get yelled at for being tardy. I spot my best friend waving at me from the very front row of the bleachers in the section where the cheer squad is sitting. I hurry across the shiny wooden floor and take the seat he saved me next to him, stretching my legs out in front of me dramatically as I lean into his side. Yes, my best friend is a guy. No, he isn't gay. No, we don't like each other. There's zero sexual tension, and there has never been.
Miles is the yin to my yang. In addition to being the best friend a person could ask for, he's also my cheer partner and has been since we were thirteen years old. I love the camaraderie of the cheer squad in general, but Miles is my person. The two of us are considered to be a big deal in cheerleading circles, which is why we were offered full scholarships to a dozen schools. We narrowed it down to two universities with Division I teams, one Miles wanted and the one I'd had my heart set on from the start. There were two reasons I wanted to come here. First, it's less than twenty minutes from Nanny and Pop's house. Second, it’s his alma mater and I idolized him. What can I say—my reasoning on the second thing seemed solid at the time.
In the end, Miles let me choose, which is why we're here, under an hour away from where we went to high school. The university Miles wanted to go to is clear across the country. Especially after the events of this summer, I know we made the right decision in coming here.
On every level, this school has been good to us both academically and physically. In the three years we've been here, we've helped the cheer squad earn half a dozen state and national championships, and for the last three years running we've taken first place in every one of the coed partner stunt competitions.
The trust I have in Miles—as the person who tosses me into the air only to catch me—literally—within the palm of one hand is immeasurable. I’ve met dozens of fly girls over the years who could be amazing but are instead stuck at being “good” because their partners aren't rock solid. That isn't the case with me. In all honesty, Miles is the more talented of the two of us. It takes incredible strength and stamina to throw a one hundred and twenty-five-pound five-foot five-inch girl for hours and hours every day, but he does it without complaint. I enjoy cheerleading, and I always have, but at the end of the day, the reason I've taken it as far as I have is entirely down to Miles.
I grin as he playfully jabs at my side with his elbow so that I don’t do something crazy like fall asleep on him, something I’ve been known to do. The joke on the squad is that I’m borderline narcoleptic. I frequently fall asleep while waiting for the team to assemble and I also tend to nod off at the picnic tables on the quad. What can I say? I like sleep. A lot.
“Are you cooking chicken breasts tonight or am I on my own for dinner?” Miles asks.
After our freshman year when we both lived in dorms, we moved in together into an off-campus townhome his parents rent for him on a month-to-month basis. His family refuses to allow me to pay rent or any of the bills, despite my protests. I make up for it by keeping the house stocked with food and by doing all of the cooking. It’s the perfect arrangement for all of us.
I yawn and stretch my arms as I sit up straight. “Don't be a dope, of course I'm cooking. I forgot my afternoon snack, which means I haven't eaten since lunch. Two tablespoons of peanut butter, an apple and a cup of cottage cheese weren't enough to fill me up. You don't know how badly I wish there were a way to automate the chicken breasts dropping onto our George Foreman grill about eight minutes before we get home. I’m that hungry.”
Miles narrows his eyes as he shakes his head. “You know how important the afternoon snacks are,” he scolds. “You’re off by about two hundred calories for the day because of that. I should’ve checked your backpack this morning before you left the house.”
I shrug, not in the least bit concerned. “Cut me some slack, Dad," I say dryly. "I was in a rush this morning and forgot. The first day of school and all, ya know? I solemnly swear that I’ll do better tomorrow.”
“See that you do,” he says firmly. "I'm the one throwing you around all afternoon, and when you're hangry, you turn into a major bitch.”
I snort out a laugh as I give him the finger. It’s not like I can argue—he’s one hundred percent right. I get cranky as hell when I’m starving, and during our official season, I'm hungry almost all of the time because my diet is so strict. I have to keep my weight steady and my core strength on point, which doesn’t give me much wiggle room at all. There are no off days for flyers—there can’t be. If I gain five pounds, that’s five extra pounds that Miles has to balance when he’s tossing
and catching me. Cheerleading is a far more brutally regimented sport than most people realize.
Since Miles and I spent a fair amount of our free time today texting each other about the gossip with the football team, I'm able to launch directly into questioning if he's heard anything about who will be replacing Coach Adams.
“Just wait until I tell you what’s up! I just found out before I sat down—I can’t believe you don’t know yet. First of all, this has been going on for quite a while. I gotta think the school got lucky that it all blew just after the semester officially ended because it meant the football season was over and they could keep it quiet. They've spent the weeks since it all hit the fan scrambling to find a new coach. The football team was told about this last week, at which time they were warned that if they valued their scholarships, they would need to keep their mouths shut until the announcement could be made. They'd originally offered the coaching job to Mr. Peters, but since he didn't want to move from the assistant coach position, they went outside and found someone else."
I nod as he finishes talking. “Interestingggg,” I drawl. “Any word on the new guy?”
Miles leans in closer with a look of clear excitement on his face. "It's your… um…" his brow furrows as he pauses. After a second of thinking he makes a dismissive motion with his hand. "Doesn't matter I guess. I just never know what to call him, so I guess we need to work on that. Anyway, it's none other than Colin Findlay! Makes sense they went with an alum. Gotta say though if the dean was looking for a way to ward off sexual crushing on coaches, he just failed miserably. I think you might be the only person here who’ll be immune to him.”