The Coaching Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #4)(35)

“Ready.”

As I’ll ever be.

Which is not ready at all.





Elliot




“I don’t understand why you just let these guys treat you like shit.”

We’re walking along the food court, sipping on smoothies from Jamba Juice, and I don’t know how the conversation turned to guys, but it stops Anabelle in her tracks.

“I’m not letting them treat me like shit. This thing isn’t my fault—they’re the morons who made the stupid bet, I’m just the collateral damage.”

“Sorry, that’s not what I meant. I meant, you should confront them about it instead of not doing anything.”

“If only it were that easy. I don’t want to cause a bunch of drama, especially with my dad being the coach here.”

“You know what I think you need to do? Give those two assholes a taste of their own medicine. You do know that wrestlers are like the bottom feeders on the athletic food chain.”

“Stop it, they are not.” She gives me a little smack on the arm.

“Yes they are—have you seen their ears?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I think you need to teach those dicks a lesson, and you know what else? I’m the person to help you do it. There’s no bigger asshole than me if I want to be, and you’re not going to teach them jack shit if you don’t fight fire with fire.”

“Okay now you’re just starting to sound like my dad, and you are not an asshole—like, at all.”

“I’m not? Shit. I try so hard, too.”

Anabelle rolls her eyes, bumping me with her hip. “You wish. You’ll never achieve douchebag status. You’re doomed.”

“Next you’ll be slapping a nice guy label on me and telling me I’m sweet, asking me to stay in on the weekends and paint your toenails.”

“Why do guys think being called nice is an insult? I’ll never understand that.”

“It’s in our DNA to rebel against it.”

She laughs. “You’re doing a shitty job rebelling—pardon my French.”

“Okay smartass.” We pass by a jewelry shop, wandering past clothing store after clothing store until I stall us both in front of the sporting goods store where my new soccer gear awaits. “Before we go inside, I just want you to think about speaking up against these guys. These dicks don’t get to treat you this way.”

“A revenge plot Saint Elliot? Really?”

“No, no, not a revenge plot—I just think someone needs to call them on their bullshit. We can do it.”

She cocks a brow. “We’ll see.”





Anabelle




I cannot believe I’m having this conversation.

A revenge plot? Seriously?

I don’t think I have it in me, and I certainly don’t have any desire to be the kind of girl who does.

We’re at the front counter of an athletic store, Elliot waiting for the clerk to retrieve an order from the back room—a new pair of black and white indoor soccer shoes.

I lean toward him conspiratorially. “So when you say get back at these guys, like, what exactly do you mean?”

He shrugs. “You know, the usual. The punishment should fit the crime.”

“Crime? Settle down, drama llama.” I stare at him, not sure how to respond, speaking slowly. “I have no idea what you mean by ‘punishment fitting the crime’ because I have no idea what they’ve done to anyone else—you weren’t specific the last time we talked about it and I’m new here, remember?”

“Good point.”

“So?”

“Specifically? When the new guy joined the wrestling team last year—nice guy, right? He comes from Louisiana and likes to keep to himself. Quiet, studies a lot. Anyway, Rex and Eric were living with him. Get drunk one night and decide Rhett—that’s his name—needs to get laid.”

“Wait, they decided? Like it’s their decision to make?”

“Yeah. Anyway, they’re totally lit one night, and they make photocopies of a flyer with Rhett’s face and phone number on it and hang them all over campus.”

I gasp. “What! That’s terrible!”

“It was bad. Girls were calling his number and messaging him for months.”

“Oh nooooo!” My hand flies to my mouth, muffling my horror. “Then what?”

“The guys laid off for a while—except a few other people pulled pranks on the kid, copycat hazing. Let me think for a second…I know those two morons have done other dumb shit. They used to drive my old roommates up the fucking wall.”

“Hypothetically, if I were going to do something to teach them a lesson, what’s something that would piss you off if you were a guy?” He gives me a pointed look and I roll my eyes, poking him in the bicep. “Knock it off, you know what I mean.”

“I don’t know, maybe we can Google some ideas? I’m not a dick, and I’ve certainly never hazed anybody. It would make me feel like the biggest piece of shit.”

“Don’t you think it should be something public? Like…at a party or in class or something? I have a class with Rex, it would be so easy to embarrass him.”