I chuckle. “Great. I’m looking forward to that.”
“Ice and stretching are going to be your best friends.” She smiles—bright and welcoming, her face gleeful. “I’m Poppy.”
“Mae.”
“So, what’s it like being the cheerleading coach’s daughter?”
I shrug. I don’t want to insult my mother, especially because all the women here probably like and look up to her. You’d have to be an idiot not to realise how much she enjoys working with these girls.
Her eyes were gleaming the entire time they were dancing, and then, they’d flicker over to me, and she’d roll them, reprimanding me for not kicking high enough or for having a bent elbow.
Her standards have always been high. Sky-high. It’s one of the reasons I gave up dance. I hated how much of a perfectionist she was. No performance was ever right.
“It’s a new experience, for sure. I’m not that much of a football fiend.”
Poppy nods, eyes rolling. “Oh, trust me, I know. My brother’s—”
“Alright, girls,” my mother calls, waving everyone over, “I have something I need to talk to you about, but we’re going to need to wait until the football fools get here.”
“Fools?” I whisper, sensing the animosity in the air.
“She hates them,” Poppy says as we join the crowd of women sitting on the scratchy grass. “This is so weird. We don’t usually have meetings with the guys.”
Everybody quietly babbles beside us as we sit with our knees hugged to our chests, my sweaty blue sports bra and shorts uncomfortable against the hot flush of my skin.
My mother picks at her nails, a tell-tale sign she’s agitated. She flicks her golden hair over her shoulder with dismissal as a capped man—who I assume is the coach of the football players—strolls through the tunnel leading to the field. He’s followed by a group of athletic men.
I take in their varying heights and builds, some tall and lean while others are stocky and powerful, all of their eyebrows furrowed as they glance down at us, clearly just as confused as we are.
But my eyes bulge out of my head as they land on the man who’s been at the forefront of my thoughts since the incident at the wine store yesterday.
4: Nathan
Fuck…her. Really? I grind my teeth together.
Her tanned and toned arms tighten around her legs, and her pink lips part slightly as our eyes meet.
She looked beautiful under the lights in the wine store, but here, all sweaty and aghast… shit. I don’t want to look at her, but my eyes keep finding their way back.
She’s a problem I don’t need.
I have enough on my plate.
I plaster a scowl onto my face, snapping my eyes away and standing on the side of my clustered teammates—as far away from her as I can get.
I try my best to ignore her presence, but I can’t help myself. Her barely-covered skin has a glowy sheen to it. Her wavy hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail, with loose pieces on either side of her slender face. It’s flushed, but I can’t tell if that’s because she’s been training or because she’s recognised me from yesterday.
I was an idiot for paying for the wine, but I truly believed I’d never see her again. And now here she is, part of the Missarali Storks Cheerleading Squad.
I pray she doesn’t put me on a pedestal, expecting me to converse with her in passing. Ask how she is at games. Take an interest in her life.
That’s not me. I’m not interested in her in the slightest.
I was doing it for Emmanuel.
We’re here for a meeting, but Darrell gave little away about why. We don’t socialise with the cheerleaders that often, and for good reason after what happened last season.
Renee clicks her tongue, pulling out her phone, scanning the screen. “Right, are we ready?” She turns to Darrell, who gestures for her to proceed.
