Page 35 of Chess Not Checkers
I shrug. “Either way, there’s no point in complaining.”
Everyone quiets at my snappy wording. I scrub my face with my hands.
“I’m sorry, Harry, I shouldn’t have said it like that. I’m just stressed.”
“It’s okay. I get it.” He gives me a reassuring smile.
“Once you’ve finished at least three sets of the exercises, you can stretch and go home!” Vanessa yells from the sideline where she’s talking with the other coaches.
“Three?” Emmaline whines. “Will y’all snitch if I only do two? I can’t take this.”
A few of my teammates laugh.
“We won’t have to. You were one of the last ones over here—no way she believes you did three sets,” Tess says with a snicker.
“Ugh.” Emmaline huffs and continues doing her leg raises.
One by one, my teammates finish, do a quick stretch sequence, then leave. After I do six sets of leg raises, I take my time stretching. My coaches wave to me as they leave, telling me not to take too long because security will be by soon to lock up. I’m finishing up stretching my arms when a voice makes me jump.
“Should have known you’d be the stay-after-practice type.”
I look up to find Shepherd standing on the sideline, hands in the pockets of his navy joggers.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as I stand.
“I came to see if you wanted to have a match after practice.”
I walk toward him, my heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings.
“You were waiting this whole time?” I ask, glancing down at my watch. It’s been twenty minutes since the official practice ended.
He shrugs. “Didn’t have anything else to do.”
I cross my arms and give him a look. “You and I both know that’s a lie. I have your schedule.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Maybe I’m slacking on a paper for English to be here. But who needs Shakespeare? I’m going to the NFL.”
I laugh. “So now you’re committing to the stereotype of being a dumb jock?”
“You did say I have resting idiot face last week.”
I press my lips together. His deep blue eyes glitter with amusement.
“I can’t believe I said that.”
He chuckles. “I can.”
I scrunch my nose in response, which makes his smile grow.
“Do you have time for a match?” He switches back to the subject at hand.
I nod. “I do, but I need to eat something. Are you hungry?”
“I’m a football player,” he answers.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I say with a short laugh. “Do you want to come to my place? I’ve got some leftover pesto chicken pasta in the fridge.”
“I told you I’d get you to cook for me,” he says as we head toward the door. I notice him looking around. It’s a hypervigilance I’m used to in my family, but I haven’t seen Shepherd like this before. I shrug it off. Maybe he just doesn’t want to run into anyone who would talk to him about football. If he’s under as watchful an eye as he said the other night, then I wouldn’t blame him.
