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“Did they just tell you to say that?” My wide eyes shift back onto Warren, who gestures in the boys’ direction. He’s pissed. Beyond pissed. Clenching his jaw together so firmly, I’m afraid what he’ll do if I say “yes.”
“I, uh?—”
“Delaney…” Alf now speaks up, my worried gaze meeting him. “You do realize you just asked to have sex with him, right?”
The apples of my cheeks turn into a ball of flames. “But they said…the boys said…” My anxiety-stricken words leave me with no other option than to stop talking altogether, staring back into Warren’s intent stare. “I’m sorry…I…I need to go.”
W A R R E N
“Delaney, wait!” She scurries out of the bar before I can stop her, her eyes watery and her face full of embarrassment—and most importantly—betrayal.
Though a part of me is dying to replay her proposition in my mind, I can’t suppress the anger that builds inside me at the sight of her so overwhelmed.
I slam my hands down on the table as soon as she’s out of sight, pushing myself up before I know it. “Oi!” My voice is loud, forcing the bar to go silent. I can’t hold back the sheer frustration in my boys as I storm over to their table. “What the fuck was that?” I shout in annoyance.
Hart, still finding this situation amusing, tries testing the waters as he pats my shoulder playfully. “Oh, calm down, Coach.” He’s got a smug, proud look on his face. “It was just a joke.”
“Just a joke?” I snap, causing him to retreat his hand and cower inwards as I suck in a breath, internally measuring up what’s more important right now. Smacking some Goddamn sense into these boys, or going after Delaney, who’s run off to Lord knows where. Mentally, I curse myself, opting for the latter, given that the only reason she came over to me was to right my wrongs. A task that should’ve never been hers, to begin with. I release a breath, lowering my tone as I stare back up at the boys.
“I hope you all like running,” I tell them through clenched teeth, reaching for my jacket. “Because after that stunt, you’re sure as hell in for a whole lot of it in the next practice.”
“Coach!” Wilks protests, standing up from his chair, hands flared up by his sides. “I tried to stop them. Don’t include me in this!”
“I don’t want to hear it.” I place my arms into my jacket. “See that everyone gets home safe, will ya, Alf?”
Alf elicits a faint nod in response as I race my way out of the bar and into the cool breeze outside—knowing that nothing will be more chilling than if I don’t find her and make this right.
FOURTEEN
D E L A N E Y
If anyone hadthe expertise to write a guide on whatnotto say and do around Warren Park, it would be me.
In an effort to patch things over between the two of us, I’ve only managed to make things more awkward. Granted, it’s not my fault that the boys told me to say something completely unhinged—though I was idiotic enough to believe them.
I’m sure it’s not the first time someone has approached Warren with such a proposition, but I’m certain it’s the first time he had such a hesitancy to respond.
Sometimes, I wish I could have the slightest glimpse into what goes on inside his head. I can’t decipher if the piercing image that’s ingrained in my mind was that of disgust, frustration, reluctance, or a mixture of all three.
My mind spins with thoughts as I exit the bar and step into the freezing outdoor air. Tenners is located in a rundown corner of the street, surrounded by giant, overflowing garbage bins and a looming stench ofI-should-never-have-come-here.
I follow the streetlights toward the main road, wrapping my arms around myself to combat the wind when I collide with a frail frame leaning against the street post.
“Oops.” I stumble back. “Sorry…” I attempt to press the button to cross the street—one that his body restricts access to. “Would you mind clicking that for me?”
“Sure thing.” He flashes a toothless grin. “But only if you tell me where you’re headed.”
I flinch at the sight of him—I’m used to getting hit on in public, but usually, the men that do it don’t look like they’re collecting their pension.
“Not interested,” I mumble in response, keeping my eyes on the ground as I attempt to maneuver around him, mentally preparing to walk the long way home instead.
My sidestep is cut off by him stepping in front of me and blocking my path.
“Is that an American accent I hear?” He attempts once more. “You know, I’ve always had a thing for American girls.”
He’s brave enough to take another step toward me, reminding me of the exact words of advice Hart had shared earlier:
“If the lads in here get one wind of your accent, they’ll be all over you tonight.”
