“But it’s not the same as the field time and practice that’s going to get us ready for the season,” Grey says.
“It says here that we’ll still be training. They’re sending a specialist or something,” Chase says, reading the email.
“Yeah, I feel special,” I say darkly.
Chase claps me on the shoulder.
“Oh, you are,” Grey teases.
“Guys, we have just enough time to go home, pack, and meet up to take the flight to the finishing school in a remote country called Concordia. Ever heard of the place?”
More like enough time to not go home, pack, or take a flight anywhere. This is ridiculous. I do a one-eighty in the hallway and start back the way we came.
“Where are you going?” Declan asks.
“Going to talk to Hammer.”
Three sets of hands land on me and I brace myself for a team tackle. It doesn’t come, but they do march me in the other direction.
I hem and haw, almost whine and plead, but don’t go that far.
“No, we’re a team. We stick together,” Grey says with the final word.
5
CATELINE
After a meeting with Everly, one of my new coaches, who I feel confident will do great after she gets over the preshow jitters, Pippa joins us in my office.
I expect her to be refreshed from some time off and ready to get back to work, but she was late and wears glasses today, which is unusual. But she settles in like a professional.
“Ladies, I apologize for not offering you more training time, but it turns out we’re getting four new students. Athletes who have bad-boy reputations.”
“Sound like rascals,” Pippa says.
Everly sits up straighter, as if preparing herself for the task.
“We’ll have our hands full, that’s for sure.” I pass them their introduction packets because it’s showtime.
Everly gazes at hers and once more, I notice the ring glinting on her finger. Her expression washes with sadness, then just as quickly disappears.
But there’s no time for thoughtful reflection. I have to rally the troops if we’re going to survive these new students who are sure to be arrogant, bad-boy, playboys. I reviewed their case files and it’s not pretty.
My jaw already clenched, I say, “Ladies, I’ve heard the term insta-love, but I never experienced insta-hate.”
“Never?” Pippa asks with surprise and gets us sidetracked with a story about a ghastly-sounding woman dressed up in designer clothes and a sugary sweet smile that was sour and rotten on the inside.
I take a deep, fortifying breath and go further off track because Pippa always smells good, reminding me of the lavender fields back home. I snap my head back into focus. “As I was saying, I have a feeling working with these boys is going to cause widespread insta-hate. Keep your wits about you. Be on alert. They’re pranksters. Don’t let them?—”
“Don’t worry. I can promise we will not be experiencing insta-love.” Pippa shakes her head sharply.
“No, ma’am, madam, er, should we call you Miss Berghier, Cateline, or—?” Everly asks, as if suddenly nervous.
I straighten the papers on my desk. “You can call me Cate.”
“Does anyone call you Cat?” Pippa asks.
“Just my enemies.” My one and only enemy is Gaston, my ex, but not even he dared call me that.
