The Coaching Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #4)(11)

“I see. Bet that’s a huge pain in the rear.”

“It can be, but with a position like mine comes a lot of responsibility. I’m part team manager, part social director.”

My smile is wry; I find Rex amusing. Though he’s not normally my type, his rumpled appearance and ridiculous conversation are charming.

“Social director? Is that an official position or one you made up?”

“I’d say it’s just a well-known fact.” He winks.

A projector gets clicked on by the professor, who saunters to the center of the room, remote in her hand. Nods to her assistant, who cuts the lights.

“All right everyone.” Her voice booms out, slicing through the noise like a knife. “Let’s cut the chatter!”

And just like that, class has begun.





Elliot




I don’t know why I keep hanging around these goons; I swear, the more time I spend with them, the dumber I get.

But they were my old roommate’s friends and for some reason, they keep coming around. So when they join me for lunch, I scoot over to make room at my table.

“Long time no see, man, how’s it been going?” asks a big black dude named Pat Pitwell as he slides into the spot across from me. He’s larger than life—huge—regarding me earnestly, like he actually gives a shit about my answer, unlike the other three morons.

“Good.” I shove my sandwich into my mouth, tearing off a hunk of bread with my teeth. “Quiet.”

“Living alone now?”

“Yup.”

“Haven’t seen you out at all lately.”

“Nope.”

Brian Tenneson—a guy I cannot fucking stand—leans closer.

“You’re not living in Osborne and Daniels’ shadows anymore—don’t you think it’s time to let loose and have a little fun?”

I glance at him sharply. “When was I living in their shadows?”

“Uh, only the last two years?”

I shrug. “Whatever man, you’re dreaming. We’re friends—it’s fucking weird you’d see it as competitive, but whatever.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it, just meant it must be nice that they’re gone, not there to steal your thunder.”

“Dude, I don’t have any thunder.”

Everyone laughs.

“And there was never any competition between us.”

I might not have played sports for the university like they did, but my roommates and I did everything together. Worked out when we could. Conditioned. Ran. Did homework at the library.

Sebastian helped me write a term paper or three, and Daniels bought and paid for my share of the groceries more than once.

So, no, I never felt I was living in their shadows, and we were never competitive with one another. Tenneson is just a little fucker with too much free time and way too much drama surrounding him.

“Don’t you have anything more to add to this conversation? You always have something to say.” I shoulder Rex Gunderson in the arm. “You’ve clammed up all of a sudden.”

“Shit, hold that thought.” His hand goes up, silencing us. “I see someone from one of my classes—I’m gonna go say hi.”

“Suit yourself.”

That “someone” from his class must be a girl, or he wouldn’t give a shit about leaving to say hello. I don’t know what it is about Gunderson, but he always manages to smooth-talk the ladies, always manages to have them eating out of the palm of his hands.

It hardly matters that he’s the biggest dipshit of God’s creation; girls fucking love him.

Gunderson pushes away from the table, standing, skimming his hands down the front of his pants to iron out the wrinkles. Finger-combs his messy hair.

“Dude, are you primping?” Pitwell deadpans. “No amount of grooming is gonna help you. You’re hopeless.”

There’s a raucous chorus of laughter as Rex grabs his backpack in a huff. Turns toward the table before walking off. “Shut the fuck up you guys, and keep it down—I don’t need you embarrassing me.”

“You don’t want us to embarrass you?” I crow, gesturing around the table, waving my sandwich in the air. “Are you hearing this, boys? He doesn’t want us to embarrass him.”

The guys are dying, falling all over themselves, loud and rowdy.

“Don’t worry, bro. We won’t embarrass you—you’ll take care of that all on your own.”





Anabelle




“Let’s get real here—the only reason he wants to fuck her is because she’s Coach’s daughter. I heard she’s not even hot.”

At the word Coach, my interest is instantly piqued—naturally. I strain my ears, slowing down the elliptical machine I’m on to make it easier to hear. Resist the urge to turn my head and stare down the two guys talking, trying to figure out what they’re discussing.

Maybe it’s another coach’s daughter?

One of them snorts. Grunts as he deadlifts a barbell. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Basketball player. Conrad was in here one night when she came in to talk to Donnelly.”

Oh shit. It is me.