Thank God the sink is automatic. And the water is warm. My frigid fingers thaw under its heavenly stream, but the sound of flowing water agitates my bladder. Drying my hands with the last few paper towels, I dart to the toilet. Before I can assume the position, the main door to the bathroom flies open, slamming against the wall. A cascade of curses shoots from someone’s—a man’s—mouth as another sink kicks on.
Holding my breath, I hop on top of the toilet seat. I’m not losing my spot with the Kings for trespassing in the men’s room. If that’s a thing. Oh, the accusations that would fly if I got caught in here. My mouth goes dry. What if I do? Will they think I’m some kind of peeping perv?!
Creamed corn, Avery, what have you gotten yourself into?
Tucking my knees to my chest, I suck in slow, quietbreaths. Just when I think I’ve made it out undetected, the toilet betrays me, spritzing the backside of my bare legs and brand new Vital Reign spandex shorts with a powerful spray of swirling water. A not-so-sneaky scream hurls itself from deep within my throat. Of course the toilets automatically flush. Bolting to my feet, I reach for the paper towels and remember I used the last one. All stealth leaves me as I realize how disgustingly damp my legs are. I can’t take it any longer. Shoving the door open, I tumble from the stall and straight into a bare chest. Before I can fall any further, two strong arms wrap around me, straightening me up to gaze into his confused but striking blue eyes.
I gasp as my gaze drops down, coasting over the glint of golden hair dusting his square jaw, landing on his tattooed torso. “Geez Louise?—”
“What are you doing in here?” His arms drop to his sides as he takes a step back, grabbing his shirt from where it hangs on a sink basin and pulling it over his head. The tattoos disappear in one fluid motion and are replaced with a gray Kings athletic-shirt streaked with something wet and blue. Kings blue. He’s fallen victim to the wet paint too.
“Sorry. Nature called.” My face heats.
Really, Avery? That’s what you’re leading with?
And then it hits me who this is. I know this guy. Well, at least just as well as half of America does, and I know all of Vista City does. This is Ty Brewster, strong safety for the Vista City Kings. Traded to the Kings right before training camp started this season: six feet, one inch tall, and 205 pounds. Five years ago, before I began auditioning for the dance team, I wouldn’t have known any of this. I wouldn’t haveneededto know this, but part of preparing tobe a member of their cheerleaders is knowing the ins and outs of all things Vista City Kings. That includes stats that feel too personal.
I give him a sheepish smile, but his lips are soldered in an unmoving line on his steely jaw.
After what feels like an eternity, one of his tawny brows lifts. “You realize this is the men’s room, right?”
“A toilet’s a toilet, am I right?” Slowly, I back away toward the entrance.
Forget it, I’ll hold it. If nothing else goes according to plan today, the least I can do is follow my contract. And even if it isn’t intentional, the rules are pretty clear. No fraternizing with the football players. My back hits a wall, and I grope behind me for the door handle. “I hope you have the best evening.”
He advances, cocking his head to the side. My eyes are drying out like a fish on a dock from being so wide. Finally, my fingers find a handle, and I yank it down, backing into the darkness. It’s only then that I realize I haven’t made my way back to the fluorescent-lit hallway.Cheese and rice, kill me now. I’ve reversed into a utility closet.
He rolls his lips into his mouth, nodding over my shoulder. “Door is there.”
A chagrined smile finds my face once again, and I turn toward my target, exiting without another word. Sucking in a few deep breaths, I make my way down the hall back to the room this year’s team is gathered in, filing in just as silence falls over the space. An entire room of eyes tracks me the whole trip to my seat beside Larissa.
“Way to make an entrance,” Larissa whispers as ourchoreographer claps her hands and launches into her welcome spiel. “Did you find the bathroom?”
“Yep,” I say as softly as I can.
I found a whole lot more than a bathroom.
Before we garner any more attention, I whip out my gel pens and hunker over my notebook, my heart still hammering in my chest, completely overshadowing my neglected bladder. I try to listen, but all I can think about is the fact that within the past ten minutes I’ve been sprayed by a toilet, vandalized a wall, and embarrassed myself in front of quite possibly the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in person. This better not be a precursor for the entire season.
“Are you kidding me?” I slam my head back against the driver’s seat headrest, completely forgetting there isn’t actually a headrest. Instead of meeting the soft cushion, my skull bangs against the two metal prongs that now stand in its place. I hiss in pain and grab the back of my head.
My car sputters again as I try to start it, tears welling in my eyes. All the good that happened today begins to fade away as I consider the impact this could have on me. What if my car is dying for real this time? What if I can’t financially recover? The city is expensive, and it’s only gotten more so over my years living here. I can’t afford to live by myself, let alone a surprise—major—expense. This car is all I have.
My pulse picks up, my palms sweat, my breath shorts out. If I don’t have a car, I can’t work. If I can’t hold a full-time job, I won’t meet my contract expectations. I won’t getto stay on the Vista City Kings Cheerleaders and all of this—the years of tryouts, the asking my parents for money, all the hopes I got up, including my own—will be for nothing. It’s all a ripple effect. Leaving the city would mean crushing all of my dreams—my business included. Caring for other people’s plants is something that could only thrive in a city. If I—and I’m going to barf just considering it—have to move back to my tiny hometown, that would be the end ofeverything.
I take a deep breath, say a little prayer, and try again. The old sedan sputters, spits, and quits. It’s obvious its will to go on is about as reliable as my next paycheck as a plant sitter. I won’t be starting it again today. My forehead presses into the hard steering wheel as I try to convince the tears to stay back. A knock on my window sends me through the roof of the small sedan as I turn toward the sound. Crystal blue eyes stare down at me in the waning light of the day, and for a split second, I’m too enthralled with how handsome the face is to worry about whether or not I’m about to be looted of the whole twenty-five dollars that occupies my bank account and the handful of change in my cup holder.
“Need a jump?” he asks, raising his voice just enough to hear it through the closed window.
I squint. My eyes lock on his, traveling to his mouth before trailing to the dark ink that snakes up his forearms and disappears under the sleeves of his t-shirt. And then I realize I’ve seen him before, not only plastered all over the walls of the Vista City Kings training facility, but earlier tonight. In the bathroom.
It’s Ty Brewster. Again.
“Thanks, but I’ve got it figured out. Thank you.” My heart pounds as I scan the parking lot, my eyes sweeping from him to the few empty vehicles and over the outside of the stadium. How often do they check those cameras?
Ty’s gaze follows mine, and his brows furrow. “Are you sure?”
“Someone is on their way to help,” I fib.
