His hair is red-blond and filled with curls on the top of his head and short shaved sides. His eyes are framed by black liner and bright blue eyeshadow. It isn’t until he’s standing in front of us that I realize he’s not a student at all. Or, at least, not a typical student. He has a very youthful appearance, but now that he’s close, I can see he’s definitely older than his twenties.
He gives Quin an indifferent smile and says, “Stommer.” Then he looks at me and I can feel his animosity. He’s a whole head shorter than I am, so he’s looking up at me, yet I distinctly feel much smaller right now with the hostility radiating off him being directed at me.
The man doesn’t say anything to me as he pushes between us and keeps walking. Quin and I turn to watch him go, a light sashay to his hips. I’m not sure what just happened. Did I park in his spot?
Quin chuckles. “Andthatis Coach Lemon Frost. Now you’ve met.”
“Ah,” I say. That explains his anger toward me. As if I truly had anything to do with the budget at all. “He seems nice.”
Quin laughs. “Good luck, man.” He claps my shoulder. “We’ll be in touch about the festival.”
I nod as Quin walks away, but I’m still staring after Lemon. Do I want to do anything about this? Apologize, maybe, though I have nothing to apologize for. I really don’t want to start the school year with this kind of storm cloud on my horizon, though.
For now, I’m just going to head to practice and put my energy where it’s deserved.
CHAPTER 5
LEMON
He’s married to a supermodel. Blah! How cliché. He’s won like 829 awards—overachiever. And drives a motorcycle—that’s totally nineties! He’s begun his own charity that focuses on providing gear to disadvantaged youth so they can play sports. All sports. Like he’s pretending to be altruistic or some shit.
It’s possible I looked Hansley up online because I wanted to know more about my competition. I need to know what makes him tick so I can more readily get rid of him. I just need him to fail. If he fails, maybe he’ll be discouraged and quit before next year. Leaving me with just this year to struggle through.
Then next year, Dean Devaroe will apologize and promise never to mess with my budget again. I will graciously accept his apology and praise for putting up with this insult with such patience and geniality.
On paper, this guy looks like he’s a flawless character. Which means he’s only two-dimensional. Also—boring as fuck. I can’t find anything even the slightest bit scandalous when I search his name. Not even all the way on page thirty-four of the search engine.
When I go to social media, there’s just a bunch of pretty pictures of him with his stupid, pretty wife. That shouldn’t beallowed. Pretty people should not be with other pretty people. It’s not fair.
There are glimpses of his life all over social media. His college wins. A picture from when he got drafted. His marriage to this model—becausethat’shard work. His trades. Hockey. Hockey. Hockey. Charity. Hockey.
He’s always smiling too. Like… what’s that about? What do you have to smile about so often?
This is the face of someone who’s never been rejected. Who’s never been disappointed or let down. He’s walked a path lined with gold his entire life.
I sit back in my chair and stare at the door. At least he’s not in this building. I don’t have to worry about running into him again.
Because he’s also gorgeous. Which I already suspected while viewing him from my video feed and the little thumbnail picture in the school app by his name. But seeing him up close? The way my stomach flipped. Just… wow. That’s all. Wow.
He’s dreamy. If I could build a guy, I think he’d look just like Hansley. Broad shoulders, which I was able to see clearly since he wasn’t wearing a hoodie this time. And his chest. Man, I bet that thing is huge. It looked huge through his shirt, but I really want to see him shirtless.
Thus, I found myself searching him online. For research purposes, of course. I found plenty of shirtless pictures and yep, perfection.
“No,” I tell myself firmly. “We will not crush on our enemy! We can only drool from afar when no one knows.”
A knock on my door makes me jump. “What?” I snap because I’m startled.
The door opens and Peyton pokes his head in. He’s one of my favorite kids. I’m sure he’s going to go far.
“Sorry, Coach,” he says. I’m thankful he’s usually unphased by my moods. “There’s a delivery here—the new pads for the dummies. Want me to put it away?”
I nod. “Thank you.”
He flashes me a smile. “I can install them if you want me to.”
“Do you have somewhere you should be, Peyton?”
Peyton shakes his head. “I finished my classes for the day an hour ago. I was in the gym before practice when I saw the truck pull in.”
