Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 124923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 416(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 416(@300wpm)
I don’t think a single player is actually practicing anymore, much to Coach’s dismay. All eyes are on the cheerleaders, particularly Valen. The photographer gives her instructions that I can’t hear from here. I raise a brow, watching the scene play out in front of me as Valen does some kind of backward cartwheel looking thing. She does a few more stunts that I can’t begin to name, and then the photographer looks over her shoulder, sizing our team up.
“Can I borrow one of your players?” she asks. Coach barks out a sarcastic why the hell not, but my eyes are locked onto Valen’s, because she’s finally realized I’m here. I lift a brow, not hiding the way I look her up and down appreciatively. She rolls her eyes, but a hint of a smile plays on her lips, and she gives me the smallest wave of her pom-pom.
“I volunteer!” Isaac says, already making his way over to the cheerleaders. He might be the tallest motherfucker on the team, but he’s a stiff. He pushes his blond hair off his forehead as he approaches with a cocky smile, eagerly waiting for directions.
“Feel like lifting a bunch of girls for the next thirty minutes or so?” the photographer asks.
“Gladly,” he says, walking up to Valen where she stands in front of the backdrop.
Ryan comes up next to me, shaking his head at the sight. “This can’t be good.”
“Let’s get one of you on his back,” the photographer says, and I let out a groan that Ryan apparently finds hilarious.
Isaac squats as low as a six-foot-nine guy can, and Valen jumps on his back, pom-poms in hand. The next pose involves her sitting on his right shoulder, his hand gripping her upper thigh.
“Do I at least get your number for acting as your personal chair?” Isaac asks, looking up at her.
“Nope,” she says without so much as looking at him or breaking her smile, still posing for the camera.
“Come on, let’s finish shooting,” Ryan says.
“Fuck that.”
“Coach is still here,” he explains. “Don’t get kicked off the team before you’ve even had a chance to play.”
Instead of listening to him, I’m walking toward Valen, dribbling my ball. You know, just in case. Her eyes flash toward mine for a second before she looks back at the camera, pasting on her pageant smile.
“Okay,” the photographer announces. “I think we’re good. Who’s next?”
Isaac lifts Valen off his shoulder, his freakishly big hands circling her waist as he slowly lowers her to the ground, her body sliding against his on the way down. Red-hot jealousy burns through me at the sight. One minute the ball is in my hand, the next it’s being throttled at Isaac’s head. A chorus of gasps and oh shits echo throughout the gym as the ball nails him in the side of the head with a loud thump. He jerks forward with the impact, cradling his head.
“What the fuck, man?”
“Sorry, Lurch. Ball got away from me,” I say in a tone that makes it clear that I’m not sorry at all. He moves for me quicker than I thought him capable of, but before it can escalate, Coach blows his whistle.
“On the line!” he shouts. “All of you! Now!”
Everyone groans, knowing damn well that means the whole team will be running suicides for the next twenty minutes. Worth it. I take one last glance at Valen as we jog over to the baseline to find her standing there with her arms crossed over her chest, looking unimpressed.
Too bad it only turns me on.
Valen
After Holden made a scene in the gym earlier, his team was forced to do running drills for nearly half an hour before they all filtered out of the gym, panting and sweating. Our media day ran a little longer, and by the time we’re done, it’s almost nine o’clock. I push through the double doors, stepping out into the snow. Shivering, I pull my phone out of my duffel and see a text from Holden.
Meet me in the conservatory. Don’t change out of your uniform.
My stomach dips, my body already buzzing with anticipation. We’ve gotten pretty good at sneaking around in the dorms, but if he’s asking me to meet in the conservatory, wearing my uniform no less, I know he’s planning something that requires more…privacy.
I fold my arms over my chest to keep warm, following the path that leads to the conservatory. The sky is dark, the falling snow dancing in the glow of the lampposts that line the sidewalk. My bare legs are freezing with nothing but Holden’s hoodie to keep me warm. When I approach the conservatory, it’s pitch-black. I glance around, making sure the coast is clear before I slip my cheer briefs down my legs and stuff them into my bag.
I open the door, walking through the first room with the rows of tables with potted plants, following the dim glow that shines through the glass door across the room. I step inside what Holden and I have started referring to as the tropical room, the humidity instantly warming my skin. Before I can take another step, Holden strides over to me, backing me up against the door.