The Coaching Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #4)(62)

“Exactly. This is payback for last year—what he did to that guy was mean.”

It was. However, “And you honestly feel doing the same sort of thing is going to make him change?”

“It’s worth a try, don’t you think?”

“If you say so.” I glance down at her trotting along beside me down the block. “You want me to carry it?”

“No, I got it. I’m going to fold it up and hold onto it until the moment is right.”

“When will the moment be right?”

“I don’t know, probably when my dad knows I’m there and makes eye contact with me in the seats.” She holds two fingers out on her right hand and points them back at her eyes. “He’s always watchin’. Trust me, he’ll see this—everyone will.”

“What do you think he’s going to do?”

“Get pissed. Fly off the handle. Kick Gunderson off the team.” I’ve never seen her so resolute about anything.

“I mean, technically he’s not on the team…”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t like him. A team manager is a big deal, Elliot. Make no mistake, Rex Gunderson’s position is important.” We walk along, both wearing Iowa wrestling T-shirts, jeans, and sneakers, making our way to the stadium. “Sucks that they’re not going to have a manager after this weekend. Training someone new will be such a bitch.”

“What about Eric Johnson?”

Anabelle waves off my question. “Rex Gunderson will make sure he goes down with his sinking ship, don’t you think? Like a rat. Guys like him always take down their friends—he’ll be clinging to him like a life preserver. Besides, they’re roommates. It’s inevitable.”

I agree. “For sure.”

We enter the building through the athlete entrance, flashing the badges Coach Donnelly gave Anabelle to give us special privileges while we’re here. No lines, no crowd, no noise.

Not until we get to the arena.

It’s a packed house, but our seats are down by the floor, and there is no way her father is going to miss this neon sign. In fact, there is no way anyone will miss it—not Donnelly, not Gunderson, not Johnson.

And the gang is all here.

Anabelle waits.

Waits through the entire meet, until the last man has been pinned and the wrestlers are on their knees, tipping back water, listening to their last lecture before heading into the locker rooms.

The sign is neon pink with glitter-covered letters, a blazing beacon in a room full of black and yellow that catches Coach Donnelly’s eye almost immediately when she holds it above her head. Rocks back and forth on her heels, the glitter catching the light in just the right way to make the letters shine.

Coach glances up, searching the crowd for his daughter.

I watch the poor man do a double take.

Squint.

Read.

Read it again, lean forward, toss down his clipboard, and stalk toward Rex Gunderson. He grabs him by the shirt collar and points toward where Anabelle and I are standing, forcing Rex to read the sign. Pointing, jamming his fingers in our direction.

“Yeesh,” Anabelle mutters. “It looks like he’s about to have a heart attack.”

“That does look like a very likely scenario.”

She smacks me in the abs. “Oh shit. He’s coming over.”





Anabelle




“What the hell is the meaning of this?” My father stomps over, glaring at me, at the ridiculous sign. Rips it out of my hands and tosses it to the stadium floor, along with all the other garbage the students in our section have discarded.

“Hey! I worked really hard on that!”

“You think this shit is funny, Anabelle Juliet?” My dad is so pissed—but then again, what else is new? “You have two seconds to tell me exactly what the hell is going on. Then I’m going to drag Mr. Gunderson’s bony ass over here and you’re going to repeat it to him.”

I take a deep breath, Elliot standing beside me, one hand on the small of my back. “There’s something Gunderson and Eric Johnson needs to tell you.”

“That they’re gay?” he shouts over the noise, glancing back at Rex.

“What? No!” I laugh at my dad’s confusion. “I mean, maybe they are, who knows, but that is not the point I’m trying to make right now.”

“What is your point? If you’re going to come into my house—my arena—with that tasteless sign and cause a ruckus, you better have a damn good reason for it, young lady.”

My father’s bushy brows rise expectantly, eyes shifting between Elliot and me. Noticing the narrow space between our bodies, and our hands—they’re hanging at our sides but are almost touching. A palpable air of intimacy hangs between us.

“Get to the point, Anabelle—I have some skull-crushing to do in the locker room and not much time to do it.”

I open my mouth to tell him…

…and the whole story comes out.

The bet. Overhearing it at the gym. Crying in the library then going out and getting wasted. Elliot bringing me home, back to his place. Going on a fake date with Rex but not hating it.

He’s mad, but he listens, nostrils flaring out with his displeasure. Arms crossing, steam rising from his ears.