Rush: The Season (Austin Arrows Book 1)(6)

I can understand the allure, because I happen to have a crush on one of the players myself, and he just so happens to be my brother’s best friend to boot. However, I’ve managed to keep that to myself over the years, and I intend to take it to the grave.

“I’ll call her mom and see what she says. Maybe in a couple of weeks?”

“Cool.” Again, Bianca doesn’t look at me when she speaks.

“You got everything?” I ask, although it’s too late at this point because we’re only a block from the school.

“Of course.”

I realize why my daughter isn’t looking at me. I think she believes she has successfully hidden her pink hair, probably because I haven’t said anything. I don’t know why she would think I’d be able to overlook something so glaringly obvious, but I decide to let it go. There will be plenty of time when I pick her up to question her new hair color. For now, I sympathize with the fact that she has to go to school and spend the next eight hours trying to stay awake.

Unable to find anything more to say, I allow Bianca to turn up the radio for the next thirty seconds as I pull in behind the other parents also dropping their kids off. Despite the music, the lack of conversation is almost deafening, but I somehow manage to hold my tongue. As soon as I’m stopped in front of the school, Bianca flings the door open, grabs her bag, and hops out.

“Hey!” I call after her.

She bends down and peeks into the car.

“I love you.”

Bianca smiles sweetly. “I love you, too, Mommy.”

“Oh, and we’ll be talking about your hair when I pick you up.”

In a flash, her smile disappears, as well as her face when she stands up and closes the door. I watch as she hurries toward the building, not once looking back to wave like she normally does. I can’t help but chuckle. I love that kid with my whole heart. I have a feeling her teenage years are going to test my patience, but I think every parent feels that way.

However, I don’t have time to think about that now, because I need to get home and go to sleep. While Bianca spends her day learning, I get to spend my day snoozing. That way, in only eight short hours from now, I can get up and start my day—or rather night—all over again. After all, I own the Penalty Box, the most popular sports bar in all of Central Texas.



At three fifty-three, I’m once again in front of the school, only this time I’ve slept, showered, downed another cup of coffee, and I’m dressed for work. I won’t go in for another couple of hours, but I prefer to be proactive.

I watch as kids begin spilling out of the school, scattering in all directions. Some go toward the line of buses, others to the cars parked in an endless stream at the parent pickup, and some starting on their walk home.

The second my daughter steps outside, I see her. She’s chattering away with her best friend, using her hands in the same animated fashion she seems to do everything. There’s a wide smile on her face, and I notice she touches the pink strand in her hair, apparently proud of it. And yes, it looks cute on her. Doesn’t mean I don’t plan to talk to her about it. I’ve never been the overly overprotective sort, so the fact that Bianca didn’t ask before she did it hurts me a little. We’ve always been close, and I don’t want to lose that with her.

It takes her a little longer than normal to get to the car, and I think that’s because she’s worried I’m going to get on to her. I’m certainly planning to have a chat—what kind of mom would I be if I didn’t?—but I’m not going to turn it into a bitch session. She doesn’t need that, nor do I.

When Bianca finally gets in the car, I smile at her. “How was your day?”

“Good.” Her tone is a little clipped, perhaps defensive, so I give her a moment to get settled while I pull out of the parking lot and head toward the house.

“You have any homework?”

“Yep.”

Definitely defensive.

I peer over at her. “So, you wanna tell me about the pink hair?”

“Everyone’s doing it,” she says quickly.

I wonder how long it took her to come up with that as her first response. Hopefully not long, because she could’ve done so much better.

“Well, that’s nice, but you’re not everyone, so I’d like to know why you did it.”

Bianca stares out the window. “Because I wanted to.”

“Did Gabby color her hair?” I know she didn’t because I looked when they came out of the school.

“No. Her mom wouldn’t let her.”

Well, at least Gabby asked her mother.

“Why didn’t you ask me first?” It’s the only answer I really care about.

“Because you would’ve said no.”

I chuckle. I can’t help it. “You think so?”

I think back to when Bianca was eight. She wanted her ears pierced. I didn’t have a problem with it, so I took her and got them done. At nine, she insisted on a pair of boots with a slight heel. I didn’t have a problem with those, either, so I bought them for her for Christmas. When she was ten, she insisted she wanted to wear a bikini. I was a little more hesitant about that, but I finally caved. The kid can be really persuasive. We found a cute one that wasn’t ridiculously revealing. Then when she was eleven, she wanted her cartilage pierced. Since I have mine done, I decided that was okay for her, too.