The man on the phone says, “They’re rude, crude, and have bad attitudes. Please await instructions from management. We appreciate your services.” Then he hangs up.
“Well, good day to you too, sir,” I mutter into the now silent phone.
I make a few notes, wishing I didn’t have to let Gemma Nelson go. She’d already be researching this matter. She was my assistant and is still my good friend. But if this means we’re getting a new batch of students, perhaps things are looking up just in time...or they’re looking late.
My new instructor is over an hour tardy for her introductory meeting. Perhaps the flight was delayed. I hope that’s the case, and she didn’t bail out at the last minute—not that I can imagine why anyone would turn away an opportunity to live and work in the most beautiful and wealthy nation in the world.
It took me a car, a bus, an airplane, three taxis, and then another plane and a train, but I found my way from France to London, where I’d gone to university, and then to the small island nation of Concordia just north of England. It’s now the place I call home. I love it here and never want to leave.
But I worry that if I can’t save the school, I’ll soon be looking for a new job and a place to live. Plus, there’s the matter of my work visa. My heart hiccups at the notion, sending anxiety racing through me at the same time a door slams down the hall.
I force myself not to startle and go find out what the fuss is about. Some people claim the manor is haunted. A windy day can loosen window fasteners. But that’s nonsense. I take it as a reminder to stay on my toes, because most likely, these football players will be brutes who won’t even know how to properly and politely enter a room.
My bets are on the latter.
4
CONNOR
Last night, while on a date with a tennis player named Bunny, the full moon hung over Boston. Before long, word started to spread as the papers churned out headlines, images, and articles. She showed me a post on her phone, illuminating four Bruiser backsides.
Despite ticking off the commissioner, I’d be lying if I claimed to have lost any sleep over what’s been dubbed “Moon-gate” by the press and #BruiserButt on social media.
I wake up as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as ever. What can I say? The nickname Wolf isn’t for nothing. Then Coach Hammer calls Declan, Chase, Grey, and me into his office.
An hour later, the other guys shuffle in as if they anticipate what’s coming. I might be known for tackles on the field, but when it comes to face-to-face conflict, deflection is my greatest weapon. Then again, that never worked with my brother.
Hammer is on a phone call and gives us the one-minute signal with his pointer finger, along with the hairy eyeball.
I just smile.
Grey grumbles.
Chase shifts from foot to foot like his mama caught him with his hand in the cookie jar that subsequently broke, and ruined all the cookies for her book club.
Declan wears an unreadable expression, as if he’s been disciplined before. That makes the two of us. I guess we all have our ways of coping.
“Looks like Hammer is going to drop the—” Chase starts, practically shaking in his sneakers.
“Don’t you dare say, ‘I told you so,’” I warn.
“Come on, we’ve done worse.” Declan shrugs as if to say,It can’t be that bad.
“Guys, Elyse was there.” Chase refers to Commissioner Starkowsky’s daughter. Let it be known that she’s a grown woman. Having been around the team her entire life and now a reporter, she’s often in the locker room pre- and post-game. I can attest to the fact that she’s seen her share of football players in various stages of dress.
“It’s the principle. Would you want your daughter to see our backsides?” Chase adds.
“He has a point,” Grey says.
“We don’t have daughters,” I say.
Grey pokes me in the chest. “But if I did and a guy like you so much as...”
Point taken.
“You know what I mean,” Chase hisses.
I do, but I won’t indulge him by agreeing.
