Page 83 of The Rule Breaker
She rolls her eyes, but her smile stays. “Later, Reed.”
“Later, Curls,” I say, just before the screen goes dark.
I drop my phone onto the mattress and stare up at the ceiling for a second, trying to remember what the hell I was supposed to be doing before she called.
Food. Shower. Pretend to be productive.
But all I can think about is how I already want to see her again.
I don’t even realize I’m grinning like an idiot until my cheeks start to ache. I rub a hand down my face, then roll out of bed and head for the shower.
I was so damn hesitant about starting something with her when I knew she was a relationship girl through and through.
But we’re on the same page.
We’re having fun.
A friends-with-benefits arrangement with the hottest girl I know?
Yeah. I’d be an idiot not to enjoy every second of it.
23
ISABELLA
Sports management has always been a boys’ club.
Not officially, of course. If you look at the course catalog, the brochures, the university website, they’ll all tell you that it’s an open field, a career path for anyone passionate about athletics, business, and strategy. But sit in a classroom like this, surrounded by guys who don’t think twice before dismissing you, and it becomes painfully clear that isn’t the case.
I try not to let it get to me as I take my seat in the small, cramped group of desks shoved together at the back of the classroom. The professor just finished explaining our first major project of the semester—developing a team strategy for a hypothetical sports franchise. The goal is to take everything we’ve learned so far—roster management, player statistics, financial planning—and create a game plan that makes sense for our assigned team.
I should be excited. This is the kind of thing I love, the kind of work I actually want to do in the future. But as I glance around at the four guys I’ve been grouped with, I already know I’m going to have to work twice as hard just to be heard.
None of them look at me as I sit down. Two are on their phones. One is doodling in the margins of his notebook. The last one, a guy with a buzz cut and a smug expression, leans back in his chair like he’s already decided this whole project is beneath him.
Great.
I clear my throat. “So, should we start by assigning roles?”
That gets their attention. Kind of. The guy closest to me—blue eyes, athletic build—raises an eyebrow. “We don’t even know what sport we’re working with yet.”
“Right, but the professor said we should think about the key elements of team strategy first. What makes a team successful, what their biggest challenges are?—”
Buzz Cut smirks. “Damn, you’re really into this, huh?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Well, yeah. That’s kind of the point of taking the class.”
The blond guy finally looks up. “Aren’t you the girl that works with the hockey team?”
“Yeah, I?—”
He scoffs, cutting me off. “So, you, what, hand out water bottles?”
I freeze for a second, my brows dipping. “What?”
His lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile. “Or, like, pick out the jersey colors? That’s cute.”
Buzz Cut chuckles, shaking his head. The other guy snickers under his breath. The only one who doesn’t laugh is the dark-haired guy across from me, but he doesn’t bother to correct them, either.
