The Score (Off-Campus #3)(51)
“If you’re asking if we got sloppy drunk, the answer is no.”
That doesn’t appease him. “Do you remember what I told you in Jensen’s office the other day? I said no boozing, no drugs, and no brawling.”
“We weren’t ‘boozing’, sir. We just had a few drinks.”
“Are you aware of Briar’s policy regarding drug and alcohol restrictions for student athletes? If not, I’d be happy to provide you with a copy of it.”
“Oh, come on, Coach, you can’t expect us not to drink. We’re in college, for fu—Pete’s sake. And we’re all over twenty-one.”
“Watch your tone, Di Laurentis,” he snaps. “And yes, the other coaches and I do expect that of you. As long as you play hockey for this school, you’re to follow the rules set out by your coaches and the NCAA, and conduct yourself accordingly.”
“Sir…” I take a calming breath. But I don’t feel calm. I’m pissed about tonight’s loss and not in the mood to get chewed out for having a couple goddamn drinks. “My teammates and I conducted ourselves superbly the night in question. So rest assured, you have nothing to worry about.”
“Don’t get smart with me, son. We have a serious problem here—”
“No, we don’t,” I cut in. “I think you’re overreacting. We went to a bar and had a few beers. It’s what we do, okay? But hey, if this is something you’re truly concerned about, maybe you should run it by Coach Jensen and see what he says.” My mouth twists in a sneer. “He’s the head coach of this team, right? Shouldn’t he be the one to handle this ‘serious problem’?”
I regret the words the moment they exit my mouth, but goddamn it, I’ve had it up to here with this man.
Predictably, O’Shea doesn’t take kindly to having his authority challenged. “Chad has given me free rein over the defensemen, and it would serve you well to remember that,” he spits out. “When it comes to the defense, I handle any issues that arise. And this, Mr. Di Laurentis, is an issue. You will not indulge in alcohol or drugs of any kind while you’re a member of this team, you hear me?”
For chrissake. I’m done with this shit.
“You got it, Coach. Can I get on the bus now?”
Anger reddens his face. “You want to join your teammates on the bus? Then you’d better take some fucking responsibility for your actions. Acknowledge that you did something wrong.”
I’m seconds away from losing it. My hands ball into fists, but by some miracle, I manage to stop myself from hitting him. “Out of curiosity, are you planning on delivering this same lecture to everyone else in that picture? Or am I just special?”
“I plan on talking to all of them, don’t you worry. I chose to speak to you first because I was already aware of your history with alcohol abuse.” He lifts one eyebrow, and holy fucking shit, I almost let my fist fly.
My history with alcohol abuse?
Fuck that. And fuck him.
He knows damn well I don’t have a problem with alcohol. He’s just being a spiteful ass and trying to find new ways to punish me for what happened with Miranda. But this? Referencing the one time I drank too much—when I was a goddamn teenager—and using it to imply I’m a drunk?
I’m. So. Done. With. This. Shit.
“Thank you for your concern,” I say pleasantly. “It’s much appreciated. Really.” Then I leave him standing on the pavement and stalk toward the bus.
Fortunately, he doesn’t stop me.
I’m still fighting to gather the scattered pieces of my composure as I slide into my usual seat next to Tucker, who shoots me a quizzical look. “What was that about?”
“Absolutely nothing.” I fish my earbuds out of my pocket and pop them in. If Tuck considers that rude, he doesn’t say anything—he just lowers his gaze to his phone, and a few minutes later, we’re on the road.
The rock track that comes up on my iPod shuffle only riles me up more, so I pull up the playlist Wellsy made for me this summer and try to calm down to the sounds of smooth jazz and easy crooning. Nope. Not working, either. I switch off the iPod and listen to the low chatter of my teammates instead.
Logan and Fitzy are babbling about a first-shooter video game that Fitzy is reviewing for the college blog. Hollis is trying to convince someone to meet him at his dorm—“I’ll make it worth your while, baby”—which means he’s either on the phone, or he and his seatmate just came out to the entire bus. Corsen and his seatmate are arguing about who the hottest actress on Game of Thrones is: the chick who plays Daenerys or the broad who plays Cersei.
“You’re both wrong,” Garrett calls out. “Melisandre is the hottest. Hands down.”
“The red witch? No way. She gave birth to a gross shadow creature. That pussy’s tainted, dude.”
“Spoiler alert!” Wilkes says irritably. “I was planning on starting season one this weekend!”
“Don’t bother,” Fitzy advises. “The show sucks. Read the books instead.”
“I swear to God, if you tell us to ‘read the books’ one more time, I’m going to strangle you,” Corsen announces. “I mean it. I’ll straight up strangle you, Colin.”
Our resident nerd shrugs. “Can’t help it if the books are better.”