Page 2 of The Coach

"I don't know, bragging rights? Loser has to buy the next round?" I shrug. Who cares what they get?

Jasmine assesses me and I think she has had just enough whiskey to be over her awful date and ready to loosen up a little. "Yeah, alright. I guess I could do with an Andy distraction." Her eyes narrow in on me and she smirks. "I'm picking your persona, though."

"Okay, Sissy, shoot. Who am I then?"

She looks me over, tapping a finger to her lips, considering me. "Well, I would like to make you something totally out of your comfort zone, like a beautician, but I don't think you could get away with it with those nails and that hair." The look she gives me with a roll of her eyes.

You'd think I would be hurt by the way she says it, but nope. I look at my nails, and shrug. She's right, I'm not a girly girl at all. My nails are short. My waist-length, Viking-blonde hair hasn't been brushed in a couple of days and is in a messy bun held together loosely with a few bobby pins. I'm not like most of the other girls strutting around this club, or even my friends really, in their tight little dresses and high heels. I don't give a fuck about making myself up to attract the opposite sex—or the same sex, for that matter. I am who I am.

I'm wearing skinny black jeans with a black tank and my leather jacket, teamed with my comfy combat boots. This is me, unless I'm in my sweats to work out or soccer uniform to play. And I have never had any problem picking up guys, so why put in all the effort the other girls do?

"You would be more suited to a beautician, actually," I say. "Ooh, I know what you can be." I smirk, coming up with a profession she will hate.

"What?" She rolls her eyes at me.

"A fashion model." She shrieks, and I laugh. I knew she would hate that, but now I bet she's thinking about how annoying I am and not about her failed date, so I don't really care.

She shakes her head. "Oh God, no! I'm so far from a fashion model it's not even funny, no guy would believe it."

"Jas, you're gorgeous," Darcy adds. "Tall, slim, stylish. Andy's right, you make the perfect fashion model." She wraps her arm around Jas, giving her a squeeze. My sister has no idea just how beautiful she really is, and Darcy's description of her is very accurate.

"Well, that's you sorted, Jas," says Luna. "You're a fashion model, just finished a shoot for Vogue Magazine, and I think that guy over there, the one who has been eye-fucking you since you sat down." She's looking over my shoulder.

Jasmine glances in the direction Luna is looking and blushes, covering her face. "What? No, he hasn't," she whispers. Ooh, she likes the look of him already, good.

I peek over my shoulder at who Luna is talking about and he so is watching her. "Lucky you, Jas, he's hot as fuck!" She's beetroot red now, her perfect porcelain skin giving her away.

"What about me?" says Luna. "Make me something good, like a flight attendant or a sex shop owner," says Luna. She is our cute pocket rocket, one of the fastest on our soccer team, with stunning features and long almost-black hair. The girl is also obsessed with sex; you name it she's done it. She might look shy, sweet, and innocent, but she is most certainly not.

Darcy turns to her. "You are so going to be a sex shop owner, that's perfect for you, with the blond dude over there." She tilts her head in his direction.

Luna rubs her hands together. "Ooh, thanks, he is mighty fine, I can work with that. And Darcy, you should be a flight attendant, with him." She points and we all look. Just as we do, he glances our way, and we all burst out laughing, totally busted.

Darcy locks eyes with him, not caring for a second that she's been caught checking him out. "Perfect, I can do that. A flight attendant just back from Paris, and the scrummy man in the suit, who is now wondering why we're staring at him and laughing." She grins, giving him a wave, always up for the challenge. He raises a brow and smirks. Damn, she's already ahead of the rest of us.

"What's it going to be for our girl Andy, Jasmine? Cause I have just spotted the perfect guy for her," Darcy says with a devilish grin. This is going to be good. I can't see who she's talking about, but I don't really care either. I'll chat up anyone for a challenge.

We all watch Jasmine while she thinks it over. "A mechanic," she announces, looking proud of herself.

I roll my eyes at my sister. A mechanic? At least it's not some girly job. I guess I can pull off mechanic. "Who's the guy, Darcy?"

"Him." She tilts her head in the direction of the bar to a guy who is sitting on his own, drink in hand. I recognize him immediately as Brad Swift. He used to be one of the best strikers in the game, played for Chelsea. When I was younger, I worshiped him, and Darcy fucking knows that. That was until he got injured a couple of years back and I haven't heard a thing about him since. She has to have picked probably the only person in here I would feel intimidated to talk to, and she knows it. She is just as competitive as me and she wants to win this little game.

"You fucking bitch." I laugh.

She grins back. "Good luck, baby, may the best girl win." She holds out her hand for me, and I give it one quick shake.

Even with the most impossible challenge for me, I'm all in. I never back down from a challenge and a chance to win. "See you losers when you're buying me drinks," I call, rising from my seat before the others have the chance, and I take off across the room toward the hottie the girls have picked out for me.

Brad Swift. In a club here in LA. Not just any club but the same one that we chose to come to tonight. What are the chances?

My heart is pounding, so unlike me, and for a split second as I get a little closer, I have second thoughts. He's mighty fine, and he's in a suit, all clean-cut and swoony. I can feel my lady parts wake up, the throb with need already thumping through me. I could never resist a handsome man in a suit, especially this one.

I take a deep breath to get my nerves under control. I give myself a pep talk.Andy, we don't get nervous, remember? He is just a guy, no one special. You've got this. Checking behind me, I see my friends have all taken up the challenge as well and are heading to their selected guys.

Game on, girlfriends.

I sway my way through the club with an air of relaxed confidence, my eyesight set just past him to the bartender, but I take him in with my peripheral vision. And that's enough to trigger a hot flush of excitement, knowing how close I am to him, Brad Swift. This guy used to be a poster on my bedroom wall for fuck's sake, that's how obsessed with him I was. I wanted to be every bit as good a player as he was. It's why I started playing striker position in the first place and practicing scoring goals became an obsession. And he was mighty fine to look at, my first proper celebrity crush.

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