Beauty and the Baller (Strangers in Love #1)(82)

“Bloody hell, they make a grown woman wanna be in high school again,” Sonia says. “Oh, wait, we are!” She laughs and gives me a hug. “You did great, Nova.”

“I didn’t do much.”

“Ah, but you’re the one with the patience. Those guys adore you.”

Warmth fills me.

A few feet away, Ronan and Principal Lancaster are in a deep discussion, their backs to us. They stride out farther in the concession area and look outside through the glass doors. My heart drops when I see several TV vans and reporters climbing up the steps to the gym, cameras aimed our direction.

I frown. I had them scheduled for five o’clock—and they were supposed to show up at the field house.

The players wrap up with the students and jog into the concession area, high-fiving and patting each other as they laugh.

Toby sees me and rushes over. “Where’s Coach? The crowd is chanting his name . . .” He stops when he sees the people outside. “What the heck? I thought they were coming later.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

“Something must have happened,” Toby says as Bruno and Milo join us.

I leave them to head to Ronan. He’s frowning as he looks at his phone. “Why are they here?” I ask.

Principal Lancaster grimaces. “Apparently someone tipped them off that Coach might be leaving.”

My forehead furrows. “How did they know we’d be in the gym?”

Principal Lancaster exhales. “We announced the pep rally online, so . . .” He lifts his shoulders and looks at Ronan. “Look. They’re on school grounds uninvited. I can call the police or go out there myself and tell them to leave. It’s up to you, Coach.”

His lips tighten. “It doesn’t matter. It got out. They’re here, and I’ll have to deal with it sooner or later. Reporters don’t just disappear.”

“What can I do?” I ask.

“Nothing. It’s already been blasted online.” He shows me an article, but I don’t have time to read it before Toby is next to me.

“Coach? What do they want?”

Ronan flinches, then opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. Unease is written all over his face. With a grimace, he strides away from us to the glass doors and steps outside.

Foreboding crawls over me as I follow him.

He can’t face this alone.





Chapter 25


RONAN

A November breeze blows my hair, and I settle my Bobcats cap down on my head. Swallowing down unease, I approach the edge of the concrete ledge that leads down to the steps of the gym. I sweep my gaze over the myriad of reporters gathered at the bottom. At least five cameras are pointed at me, one of them ESPN.

The plan, months ago, had been to do an interview with local stations before we played Huddersfield, letting the guys get some camera time, maybe catch a few college scouts’ eyes. But this isn’t about my players; this is about me.

They rush forward, a local guy managing to push out ESPN. He shoves a microphone in my face, a gleam in his eyes. “Michael Collins here from WBBJ in Austin.”

I nod at him, my face flat. “Hmm.”

“Ronan, we received a tip you’re on the short list for Stanford. Can you confirm if this is true?”

My jaw grinds as all eyes focus in on me. I hear shuffling sounds and throw a glance behind me as Nova and several players spill outside and gather around me. My shoulders tense as I adjust my stance. Whatever I say, it’s going to be wrong. It’s going to ripple through my team, eroding their trust, messing with their heads, which need to be straight for the game.

Michael steps closer. “Coach Dunbar, the quarterback coach from Stanford, has resigned, and Coach Hite confirmed you were on the short list. Is it true?”

“Yes,” I mutter. So it was Hite who spilled . . . not a good way to start. Unless he wanted to force me to decide. Dick move.

A sharp inhale comes from a person next to me. Toby.

The reporter edges closer. “Are you aware that when the news was announced by Hite, the student body started a petition this morning to get you to the top of the list? So far, they have five thousand signatures.”

I shake my head. “While I appreciate the support, I’m focusing on my team here.”

Another reporter edges forward, a woman. “How will this affect the Bobcats? You have games coming up. Will you be here for those?”

“I plan on it. Next question,” I snap.

“How will this affect your team’s morale for tonight’s game?” She’s looking at Toby.

“My team is ready,” I say on a growl. “And you aren’t talking to my players. Not later either.”

She eases back as the guy from ESPN finally nudges forward. There’s a gloating expression on his face that gives me pause. His camera girl follows him as he points a mic in my face. “Hey, Ronan.” He gives me a thin-lipped smile.

I narrow my eyes. “Keith. You’re a long way from New York.”

“We follow the news, and you are news. Good to see you back in the spotlight. How do you like living in small-town Texas?”

“I love it. The people, the players, the school. Next?”

He chuckles. “You’re abrupt. Nothing new there.”