Page 31 of Lucky Shot

And not wins just in victories but in how Hazel got her first goal ever. How Jermain saved two penalty kicks in his game. The list goes on and on.

My smile is automatic as I relive the greatest hits of the day. My bed calls to me but that would mean effort to walk to my car and drive there. Pathetic but true.

It’s just the week catching up to me. Just the hard work cleaning up the facility for the media junket that never happened, the late night with Suri at the bar, and the long day coaching in the sun.

“You good if I head out, Whit?” Martin asks, sticking his head in the office door.

“Yes. Thanks for all your help today.”

“It was a good day.” His smile lights up his dark features.

“It was.” I lean back in my chair. “A very good one. Have a great night.”

“You too.”

I stare at the empty doorway when he leaves, grateful for his steady presence at my side over the last two years. Walking in off the street and asking me for a job was a godsend.

I jump when my phone rings. I know the number on the screen, as it’s the same damn number as the one attached to the voicemail I’ve been listening to on repeat. How did he get my number? Through Ari, no doubt.

Don’t answer it, Whit.

Don’t let the man think he’s charming or welcome or anything in between.

When I connect the call, I’m met with a blast of sound and then silence like someone just walked outside from a noisy location. For some reason, I’m irked immediately.

“Prestige Soccer Academy,” I say in greeting as if I don’t know who’s calling.

“You could have told me no one was going to be there today,” Hardy says, his voice an even timbre with a bit of a slur to it.

Hardy’s drinking. At a club no doubt, if the opening sounds on this call are to be believed. Then again, it is a Saturday night and most young, single people my age are out and about.

“Whitney? Are you there?”

I debate responding but isn’t that option long past, considering I already answered the phone to begin with?

“Unfortunately,” I mutter.

He chuckles, and it’s the sexiest sound, which I don’t want to hear. “Unfortunate that you’re there or unfortunate that you answered my call?”

“Perhaps a bit of both.”

“There’s my girl,” he says, amusement woven into the sluggishness of his response. “Irritated at life in general.”

“Did you need something?” I ask as if I care. My girl? What the heck is that?

“No. Just to let you know I was there and you weren’t.”

“I told you not to show up,” I state.

“Because you didn’t want me there.” He says something I can’t discern to someone there with him. “Not because you weren’t going to be there.”

“Semantics,” I say nonchalantly.

“Huh. Cheeky.”

“Is there something you needed, Hardy?”

“Why are you still there? Why aren’t you out and about and living your life like you should be?” he asks.