Page 6 of Beneath the Stands (Sugarlake 2)

I force a grin, trying to hide the straight-up disgust that’s creeping through my insides when I think of having to spend hours with Eli. “I’m lovin’ it more every second, Coach.”

Eli chuckles, and I squint my eyes in his direction. “What’s so funny about that?”

He rubs his hand over his mouth, shaking his head slightly. “You might want to find a different girl, Coach. Becca here is known for a lot of things, but her loving nature isn’t one of them.”

Heat rises from my chest, scorching my cheeks. I imagine junk-punching him then watching him writhe beneath me in pain. The thought makes me smile.

Coach chortles. “Come on now, Eli. Let’s give the girl a chance to prove you wrong.” He points at me. “You got Monday morning classes?”

I shake my head. “Not until ten-thirty.”

“Be here Monday at eight then, and we’ll get you started.”

I nod, biting the inside of my cheek. Eli’s head turns to watch me as I walk by, and when I’m sure Coach can’t see, I throw my middle fingers up, waving them in the air.

Driving home, my thoughts race. I don’t know the best way to process what the hell just happened. One thing’s for sure, I plan on having a stern talking to with Sabrina about her “universe” bullshit because this is not what I signed up for. I can’t believe Eli is at FCU. As a coach.

Oh my God, does that make him my boss?

I’m sick to my stomach, and a bit pissed off at Lee. What the hell is she thinking not telling me something like this? Maybe she didn’t know?

Once I hit my complex, I throw my car in park, ripping my phone from the charger and forcefully pressing send when I reach Lee’s name. She doesn’t pick up and I don’t leave a message. Instead, I send a text.

Me: You gots some ‘splainin to do!

Lee has a bad habit of avoiding confrontation, so I don’t expect a response. I sit in my car for a few more seconds, reflecting on my morning. The positives? At least I got a job. And for every ounce of asshole residing in Eli’s cold, dead heart—there’s double that of good genes. He’s a fine specimen to look at if there ever was one. I just wish I didn’t have to look at him.

It’s Friday night and I’m on the prowl. After a grueling first week of classes, Sabrina and I meet up with some friends and grace the downtown bars with our presence. I’m a shot of tequila in and a perusal away from picking my flavor of the night. I could really use a nice guy to dick me down and relieve the stress from the past week.

Our group is huddled around a table in the corner, and everyone’s lost in conversation except for me.

Standing up, I run my hands over my black bodycon dress. It’s tight, and with its plunging neckline, it does amazing things for my tits. I motion to Sabrina that I’m heading t

o the bar, but she’s deep in some philosophical conversation about women’s rights, and barely acknowledges me.

Fortunately, the bar isn’t too packed. Unfortunately, the bartender is ignoring me. I plop down on a stool and rest my chin in my hands, waiting to get some service.

“Odd to be sitting at a bar without a drink, don’t you think?”

I spin toward the voice, my eyes meeting the broad chest of a green-eyed devil. A smile creeps on my face as I assess the beauty before me. He’s tall and fit. Tousled dark hair and a black button-down that does nothing to hide his muscles. A tingle runs through my lady bits.

Damn, he’s fine.

I twist a strand of hair around my finger. “Odd you would think that’s a clever pickup line.”

The right side of his mouth lifts, showcasing a perfect dimple. “Yeah, well... my wingman’s supposed to be here to smooth out my edges, but I think he may be standing me up.”

“How awful,” I deadpan.

“Yeah. It’s a shame.”

“For you,” I say.

“For both of us,” he corrects.

“Is that right?”

“It is. My wingman’s a bit of a dick. An attractive dick, but a dick, nonetheless. If he were here, you’d realize just how charming I actually am.”

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