“What’s so embarrassing about it?”
He glares at me. “Everything.”
I nod, leaning back in my chair. “Okay. I hear you.”
He blinks, clearly surprised I didn’t argue. “You do?”
“I do.” I rub my hands together, thinking. “And I get it, Hud. I know it’s frustrating. I just—” I pause, searching for the right words. “A phone isn’t just a phone anymore. It’s everything. Social media, the internet, messages from people I don’t know. There’s a lot out there I don’t want you dealing with yet.”
He huffs. “I wouldn’t do anything bad.”
“I knowyouwouldn’t,” I say gently. “But there’s a whole world outside of you that I can’t control. And my job—my most important job—is keeping you safe.”
He stares down at his magazine, picking at the corner of the page. “So, what? I just have to wait until I’m, like, thirty?”
I snort. “No. Maybe we can find a compromise.”
He eyes me warily. “Like what?”
“Maybe a flip phone. Something you can use to text me and call your friends. No apps, no internet, just the basics.”
He makes a face. “Aflip phone?That’s almost worse.”
I hold up my hands. “It’s that or keep borrowing Coach’s phone.”
Hudson groans, rubbing his hands down his face. “Oh my god. You hate me.”
I smirk. “I really do.”
Just as he’s about to launch another protest, there’s a soft knock on the door. Then Dawn pokes her head in, her expression unusually tight.
“Wendell Tate wants to talk to you,” she says quietly.
I furrow my brow. “Why?”
She shrugs, glancing over her shoulder like she’s making sure no one else is listening. “No idea. Just…be careful.”
My stomach tightens, but I nod. I turn to Hudson. “Stay put.”
He sighs dramatically, giving me a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
I roll my eyes, pushing up from my chair.
Wendell Tate is sitting in one of the booths around the corner, a cowboy hat on his head, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he flips through the manila folders spread out in front of him, neatly arranged like he’s already halfway through some kind of deal I didn’t agree to.
He stands when he sees me, offering a handshake, his smile polite but unreadable.
“Morning, Miss Westwood.”
I shake his hand, firm but quick, and nod at the folders. “Morning. What’s all this?”
He chuckles, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Straight to business, huh?”
I don’t answer, just lift an eyebrow as I sit down.
His eyes flick over me, taking in my jeans and cream turtleneck. “You’re not in uniform today. Off?”
“I usually take weekends,” I say. “Hudson’s got practice, soI can’t talk long.”
