The mystery man had paid for my wine. It was a kind gesture that had caused me to click my teeth shut with surprise, but when he owned up to my mistake and walked out without another word, my tummy did that strangeflip-flopthing where it feels like it’s taken up gymnastics.
I also hate to admit that my eyes had been glued to his ass as he made his escape.
The walls of my mother’s house are painted a dull beige, the furniture bright white and uninspiring. She prefers simplicity and it shows in her taste of decor.
“Practice starts tomorrow,” she tells me as I fold a pair of black workout shorts and stuff them in the dresser. I didn’t bring much—just a large suitcase and Chump—which cost me an arm and a leg to transport.
Greg obviously wouldn’t let me keep my furniture in the apartment back in Colorado, so my mom paid for it to be moved into storage as part of our deal.
“It’s going to take me a little while to get my fitness level back up,” I warn her, mentally berating myself for not keeping up with my running regime. It was hard with the little time I had. That, and curling up on the couch with a creamy hot chocolate, was always a whole lot more tempting than pulling on a pair of tight-as-fuck leggings and running until my lungs gave out.
“Well, you better find your feet quickly. I don’t want to introduce you as my daughter and then have you bring the team down. That wouldn’t look good on me.”
I give her a blank look. When I was younger, I used to speak back to her. I wasn’t afraid of challenging her behaviour, but I’ve learned that doing so only spurs her on. She feeds off it, loving a challenge.
“I’m speaking to everyone after practice tomorrow. There’s something very important happening this season.” My mother’s tone is bitter.
She looks bothered, but I don’t ask her what’s wrong. I know better than to do that because she always finds a way to spin the problem around and make it my fault.
“Met any hot football players yet?” Flo asks me through the phone, and I laugh as I wait outside the Missarali City stadium, where the cheerleaders and football players train.
“No, it’s my first day, Flo.” My smile flattens as I see my mom pull up, parking her gleaming Porsche right beside my thousand-year-old rental one. I’d scraped the bottom of the barrel to get it yesterday, but it seemed I was doing the garage a favour by taking it off their hands for the time being. Nobody wanted it, and their faces were a picture when I’d stopped by last night and enquired about it. “Flo, I need to go, but we’ll meet soon, okay? I miss you.”
“I miss you more.”
My clammy hands slide my phone back into my bag.
I’ve never struggled when meeting new people. I’m not shy, but there’s something about walking into a tight-knit girl group that causes my stomach to twist in the most uncomfortable way. Being a newbie is never fun, and I feel like I’m about to plunge headfirst into shark-infested waters.
Taking a deep inhale, I step through the doors. I’m sure my mom doesn’t want to walk in with me.
The stadium is stunning, surpassing all expectations.
Bright grass is laid out, with white spray paint marking it. Rows of seats climb so high they look like a gigantic wave about to storm over me. Enormous jumbotrons hang in every corner, most likely bigger than my old apartment’s living room.
Chatter fills the air, female voices, all excited and eager, and once they spot me, their delicate eyebrows raise, glossy lips parting.
Fuck, they’re obviously all gorgeous.
“Girls,” my mom starts from behind me, “because of Gwen’s sudden family emergency, I’ve found us a new member of the team. This is my daughter, Mae. You’ll make her feel welcome, I’m sure.”
A tall brunette rushes over to me, wrapping my hand in hers in a bone-crushing handshake. She even smells amazing. “Hey, I’m Sophia—the team Captain.”
“Mae,” I introduce myself.
“She’s only here temporarily, so there’s not much of a need for pleasantries,” my mother says with a heavy sigh. “We’re eating into crucial practice time. Let’s get started.”
I’m walking on eggshells here. I can feel my mother’s disapproval hanging in the air, worried I’ll taint the perfect cheerleaders she’s moulded.
I don’t push it though—I can mingle later—so I drop my bag down and join the girls, trying my hardest to wear as genuine of a a smile as I can. However, it’s hard when everyone’s looking at me like I’m fresh meat.
Is staring at the newbie until she’s unbelievably uncomfortable some kind of initiation process or something?
Safe to say, I’m not nearly as fit as I thought I was. I knew it was going to be a struggle, but fuck me. After an hour of practice, my heart feels like it’s about to burst out of my chest. I almost fell to my knees with gratitude when my mom announced we’d finished for the evening.
I grip my water bottle with sweaty palms, chugging down as much of it as possible.
“You get used to it,” comes a confident voice from beside me, and I put a stop to the tsunami of water streaming into my mouth to take a look at the tall blonde. “I remember my first class. I couldn’t walk the next day.”
