Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 117363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“That’s a good thing, right?” Jeremy asked.
“If your goal in life is to be a side piece, sure,” Cat said. When she saw the look Laila was giving her, she gave a world-weary sigh and clapped a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “Yeah, man. It looks really good, honestly.” And because she’d never learned to stop while she was ahead, she said, “I just think tips would’ve been cooler. Easier on the upkeep, too. Do you have any idea how often you’re going to have to touch this up?”
“Tips next year, maybe,” Jeremy said. “After I’ve graduated and don’t have to deal with the fallout, yeah?” He looked from Laila to Jean. Jean’s hands were clasped white-knuckled on the table in front of him, and his expression was carved from stone as he steadily stared into the distance. Jeremy leaned to one side to count the number of bags at his feet. Knowing neither of them was in the mood for it, he still asked, “Productive trip?”
Jean muttered something in French that sounded positively rude.
“Fine,” Laila said as she stabbed at her custard. “Perfectly normal day out.”
“This isn’t—” Jean said, turning on her with a dismissive jerk of his hand. His hand went still midair when he got a good look at Jeremy. Jeremy assumed he meant to finish with “normal”, but what came out was a startled, “Blond.”
Jeremy had no time at all to study the micro expression that flicked across Jean’s face, because a couple of strangers invited themselves over to the Trojans’ table and into Jean’s space. It was a group of older men, mid-thirties maybe, and one of them was dressed in a well-worn Seattle Sasquatch shirt. The Sasquatches were a summer major league team and were set to start their season this weekend.
The Seattle fan pointed right at Jean. “Gene Moore,” he said, triumphant despite butchering Jean’s name six ways from Sunday. “Right? I told you it was him. Saw that tattoo all the way at our table. Heard you were coming to Los Angeles, but never on my life did I think I’d trip over you here.” He looked around the table, gaze lingering briefly on Cat’s USC t-shirt, and did the math. “Trojans.”
“That’s us,” Jeremy said brightly.
“Hey, man,” the stranger said, turning on Jean again. “Sorry to hear about Riko, and all. Guy deserved a lot better than what he got, amirite?”
“Deserved not to be sabotaged,” the guy at his right muttered. He pushed away the unsubtle elbow jabbed into his side and kept his eyes on Jean. “Could’ve used you on the backline that night, don’t you think? Someone who could’ve made a difference against Kevin.”
“He’s an unrepentant Raven fan,” the first guy said, not at all apologetic.
Jean considered them in unnerving silence for a few moments, then slid his gaze away and stared into the distance once more. As the quiet stretched long enough to get uncomfortable, Cat leaned forward with a too-wide smile and said, “Sorry, sorry! His English is a little hit and miss still. That’s why you never see him talking to the press, you know?” She waggled her fingers at Jean to get his attention and said in as serious a tone as she could muster, “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?”
Across the table from her, Laila choked on her custard. It was all Jeremy could do to keep his composure. He wasn’t entirely sure Jean was going to let her get away with this, but then the Frenchman gave a lengthy response that went over everyone’s head. Jeremy had never considered studying French before but hearing it from Jean was giving him ill-advised thoughts. At his side Cat was nodding along with a focused expression, never mind that she had no clue what Jean was saying to her.
After Jean quieted down, she looked back at the men and reported, “Thank you for your concern. It’s a little soon for him to want to talk about it, but we hope you have a winning day!”
It was clear they weren’t ready to go yet, but it’d be more awkward to stick around after that cheery dismissal, so the men shuffled defeated back to their table. Jean waited until they were out of earshot before turning on Cat.
“Your pronunciation is atrocious,” he said. “Who the fuck taught you that phrase?”
“It’s from a song,” she said, unrepentant. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“I didn’t thank you.”
“You could,” Cat said. “You were making things awkward.”
“I am not allowed to speak to the public,” Jean said. “The—head coach wanted us to focus on our game and let Riko and Kevin handle all outside interactions.”
At Riko’s name the corner of his mouth turned down, but Jean looked off into the distance before Jeremy could catch his eye. Across from Cat, Laila said, “The—” and froze her spoon midair, very pointedly. “It’s not yesterday anymore. What could you possibly be trying to call him that you keep choking on?” When Jean didn’t answer her, she sent him a sidelong look and said, “You really aren’t used to talking to other people if you’re so bad at self-censorship. You’re as socialized as a stray dog.”