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“Yes, Coach,” we all murmur in unison.
“Lylah, take the cool down. I’ll be in my office.”
“Let’s go,” our leader yells.
We all fall into line, ready to stretch out our muscles.
“I heard the Bulls are itching for a fight tonight,” Tia says to no one in particular. “My cousin knows a couple of their players and they want retribution for last season.”
“Everyone knows the Seahawks will beat their ass,” another girl adds.
“Maybe, but we don’t have Bexley anymore. The guy was an asshole, but his throwing arm was one of the best in the state.”
“Aaron is a decent player, and with Cole as his running back they could be unstoppable.”
“Yeah right.” Marissa snickers. “Have you seen the state of Cole today? He’s hungover and high. I’m surprised Vager didn’t send him home.”
“Helps to have friends in high places, I guess.”
“My mom has already complained about them being allowed to attend," Tia adds. "Says they ‘tarnish the school’s reputation.’”
Blood roars between my ears as I listen to them talk about Cole and his brothers, so full of judgement and condescension.
“Only makes them more appealing, if you ask me,” Marissa giggles. “I wouldn’t mind taking Cole for a ride, if you know what I’m saying.”
“Quit it,” I blurt out, and the three of them stare at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“What the hell is your problem?” Tia glowers at me.
“I’m trying to concentrate, and all I can hear is the three of you gossiping.”
“Hadley.” Lylah’s voice cuts through the gym. “What's the problem?”
“Nothing,” I grumble, focusing on stretching out my calves.
“She’s so fucking weird.” Marissa doesn’t even bother trying to lower her voice, but I let her jibes roll off me.
Because she has a point.
I’m not normal anymore.
Not by a long shot.
I straighten my ponytail and fix my blue and white bow. The cool fall breeze whips around my cheer skirt, but it doesn’t faze me. When you’re a cheerleader you get used to the short skirts and skintight outfits. My body is curvy but lean, and I know my legs are my best feature.
“How about it, Blondie?” someone yells from across the field. “Me and you after the game?” I turn to find a Bulls player cupping his junk for all to see.
Gross.
A couple of the girls snicker. “Oh my God, Hadley, that’s Ben Trainor. He’s so hot.”
“Not interested,” I say, brushing past them to go and grab a drink.
I snatch up my bottle and take a big chug, letting my eyes drift over to where the team is warming up. Cole stands out. I don’t know if it’s the tether I feel in my stomach whenever he's around or just the fact that his presence is so much more than the other guys. The tight white pants hug his thick thighs, and the pads highlight his already broad shoulders. His face guard hides his expression, but I don’t need to see his eyes to know what he’s feeling. It swirls around him like a vortex.
As if he senses me, his head snaps up in my direction, but then Coach is calling his team in for a pep talk and our connection simmers into nothing.
