He laughs and adjusts the white headband that’s completely failing its mission to absorb the sweat dripping from his hair. It’s kind of sexy, but I’d die before admitting it aloud. “It’s not a trick question, Carter. You don’t have to get all defensive.”
I shrug, striving for indifference.
Like hell I’m going to admit the only reason I’m here is because my mom’s working seventy hours a week and it’s still not enough to make ends meet with my tuition bills. Or that her POS car—which is eight parts rust, two parts steel—is back in the shop.
Hell, she sounded like she was about to drop when I called to check in last night. She’d never admit it, but I could hear it in her voice. She’s exhausted.
And probably working herself to death.
For me.
So, yeah, I didn’t exactly have a choice when it came to showing up this morning. If I have any chance of landing a full scholarship, no matter how long the shot, I have to take it. Even if it means screwing over the soccer team.
Guilt rears its ugly head and I swallow it back down, throat burning. I have to do this for my mom. She’s all I’ve got.
Just one more year.
One more year and I’ll have my diploma. As long as I keep my grades up, I’ll be able to land a good job. A salaried job. The kind that will allow me to help Mom with the bills and relieve the constant financial pressure.
But if I had a full scholarship, I could help now.
Coach Collins and Coach Jackson are staring at me again, faces unreadable as they approach. And Collins? He looks just as intimidating as those crappyCollegianphotos, with a square jaw and flat brows and a mouth that seems stuck in a perpetual frown.
Then it hits me. Coach Collins has RBF. Resting bastard face.
A nervous laugh escapes, and I press my lips flat. So not the time.
“Moment of truth,” Reid whispers, revealing a crack in his cocky demeanor for the first time.
“So much for being a done deal.” I wipe my sweaty palms on my shorts and throw up a quick prayer, hoping they’ll at least let me try out.
“Get your ass back on the field, Reid.” Coach Collins jerks his head and Reid bolts, tugging his helmet on as he jogs across the field to join the rest of the team.
“Miss Carter, this is Coach Jackson,” Collins says by way of introduction. “You’ll be working with him today.”
My spirits soar. “Thank you. Sir,” I add hastily, knowing I’ll need every bit of goodwill I can scrape together.
“Get warmed up and meet me in the end zone,” Coach Jackson says, gesturing toward the upright as if he thinks I might need directions to find it. With a herculean effort, I manage not to roll my eyes. Probably best not to piss off the man who holds my financial freedom in his hands.
I begin my stretching routine, doing my best to block out the sounds of practice and focus on my breathing as the warm glow of the sun heats my skin. Easier said than done. Between the crash of helmets and pads, there’s no shortage of trash talk. Or speculation. The guys are still wondering exactly why I’m on their field.
Pretty sure I also catch something about my ass being firm as a melon.
Nice. It’s only been five minutes and already they’re living down to my expectations. Not that I expected much. I’ve always known football players are creeps.
Just like dear old Dad.
I grit my teeth. Doesn’t matter.
Today, only Jackson matters. I can deal with the rest later.
When I finish stretching, I catch Reid watching me again. He nods, but I don’t return the gesture. He’s not the one I have to impress, and I doubt Coach Jackson will be so easily wowed.
I know my leg is strong, but it’s not like I’ve ever kicked a football before. Not that I’m entirely unprepared. I read up on the process last night and did some web research (thanks, YouTube), but that’s hardly the same as actually doing it.
I jog toward the end zone where Jackson is working with two other players. They’re both tall and lanky, but seriously lacking muscle tone. Ten to one they’ve been given strength training programs to bulk up, because even I have more definition than they do.
Jackson looks up as I approach. I slow to a walk, stopping a few feet short of where he stands with his arms crossed over his chest. Dude looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. Can’t say I blame him.
