Page 8 of The Problem with Players

I turned around to meet Nathan’s eyes.

Nathan. F**king. Pierce.

No way.

My jaw all but dropped to the floor as a wave of disgust landed in the pit of my stomach. No way did Ray hire Nathan Pierce to be my assistant coach. No freaking way!

“Cancel the program,” I blurted out as I turned back to face Ray. “Cancel the whole thing,” I hissed with unyielding resentment. I was now adding Ray to my list of men who pissed me off. His name was right under the jerk who cut me off in line at the coffee shop this morning.

“Now, Avery,” Ray started, but I was already pushing myself up from my desk chair to shoot out of that office space. No way was I going to stay in that room and breathe the same air as that…that…man.

I hurried past Nathan and headed straight for the hallway.Seconds later, I heard him calling my name. He was chasing me, but I wasn’t going to turn around.

“Avery! Wait up!” he called as I darted between students.

“Oh my gosh! Dude! You’re Nathan Pierce!” a few students remarked as they noticed him. I glanced over my shoulder and rolled my eyes as I saw Nathan push out one of his all-star smiles toward the easily impressed students.

Give me a break.

He wasn’tthatamazing.

You won one or two World Series, and people acted like your poop didn’t stink. News flash: celebrities went number two in toilets just like us regular folks. They probably just used overpriced, oil-infused tissue to wipe their bums.

I kept on my way to my office in the gym. Once I reached it, I slammed the door and took a breath. Seconds later, my door opened, and lo and behold, it was Nathan.

Lovely.

Freaking stalker.

It was no secret that Nathan was back in our little town of Honey Creek, Illinois, after his career took a nosedive. He’d been around for the past year or so, and I prided myself on being able to avoid crossing paths with him for a long time. I hated that he broke that record on Super Bowl Sunday, but I was quick to start it up again. I was a month strong before this awful encounter took place.

Something about crossing paths with one’s ex-boyfriend was so uncomfortable. And crossing paths with your famous ex-boyfriend was extra uncomfortable. Especially when no one else but your two sisters knew you had a relationship with said man.

We dated the summer after our senior year. Three months. I knew it seemed ridiculous to feel so deeply about someone who I’d only dated for three short months, but that was the thing about love—it didn’t follow timelines. It showed up whenpeople least expected it. When I fell for Nathan, I fell hard. I was more certain than ever that I was his, he was mine, and we’d be us forever.

When he abruptly ended things with me, my heart never fully recovered. I never knew something like love could lead to so many trust issues.

“Hey.” Nathan stood there with an annoyingly attractive smirk.

I wanted to smack the smile off his smug face. One of the worst things about running into an ex was seeing how attractive they’d become over the years. Nathan was always handsome, but now he looked like a diamond dipped in gold. His arms were muscular and massive as he crossed them over his chest. His brown skin looked ridiculously hydrated. His dark-brown hair was cut in a fade, and his ears were pierced with diamond studs. His brown eyes still reminded me of heaven, and his wicked smile reminded me of hell.

He wore a dark gray pullover that was probably one size too small based on how his biceps were showcased, black jogger pants, and some overpriced sneakers.

I hated how beautiful andbighe was. Not many men in town could make me feel small, but standing near Nathan did exactly that.

Which was why I puffed out my chest and narrowed my eyes. “What do you want, Nathaniel?” I hissed, annoyed by his proximity and the fact that he was trying to ruin my life again after all these years.

“Nathaniel.” He chuckled. “Using the full name to show how much you missed me, huh?”

“I only use your full name as a sign of hatred.”

“You used to say it for very different reasons.”

I felt my skin heat from his words. “Yes, well, I was a dumb kid. Now it’s used for hatred.”

He stepped toward me. “So you hate me, Ave?”

“With a passion,” I said. “A deep, skull-crushing passion.”

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