Page 57 of Lochlan

Poppy glances at me. “It's your turn, Kenzie, please stand.”

I get to my feet, staring out at the squad.

“Were you able to complete your challenge?” Her voice rings out clear, like the royal call from a queen.

I slip a hand into my pocket; my index finger finds the stiff paper and nervously flicks the corner of the envelope. I haven't read the letter. I was too angry and hurt after Lochlan left me in our suite to read the words he put on paper. He said he wrote me a love letter and with the pictures we took during our weekend with his family, no one would doubt that we slept together.

I glance at Livi and realize that the proof she's probably submitting is a sex tape, and that she was willing to film having sex with Douglas Foxton and let the rest of our squad view it.

I look at Poppy's expectant face and the faces of the rest of the women and wonder why I want to be one of them. I tick off the reasons in my head to remember. The women in this room represent some of the best talent on the sand today. Crimson Beaches is a tight, supportive club that has produced medal-winning players. Poppy's unlimited funds have built a world-class facility and attracted an all-star coaching staff. The only reason I'm still standing here wanting to be accepted by Poppy and Crimson Beaches is a chance to pair with one of the best players to ever play the game. I swallow hard, the dull sound of it in my ears. Dad said we're always tested to make sure of what we really want. If we're not willing to walk through fire for our dream, then find another dream.

To be a part of Crimson Beaches, I used a man to fake a relationship and now I have something that should be private, that will be passed around to each of these women to read.

I've worked so hard to be where I am, and when will I get another chance like this?

“I... ah, I...” I start, trying to croak out the words. The women are waiting for me in dead silence. My throat seems clogged, and I try to clear the thick mucus from my throat. I cough, then start again. “I didn't complete the challenge. We never connected; I'm not his type.”

Even if this letter in my pocket is a fake declaration of love, no one in this room has a right to read it except me.

There's a murmur circulating among the tables. The old fears of me being judged as falling short weaken my knees and I place the flat of my palms on the table to steady myself. Poppy rises to her feet, her face unreadable.

“That is regrettable, very regrettable.” She shakes her head, nearly dislodging the plastic holly from her hair. The green ornament hangs by a few strands that make her appear less regal. “I can't remember a time when one of our sisters did not meet her challenge. I will think about this and contact you when I have a decision.”

The look on Poppy's face signals that the session is over. I walk away from the head table and down through the middle aisle, not listening to the chatter in the room. A burst of energy courses through my limbs, and I ignore the urge to flee. Instead, I hold myself as an athlete, head high, and walk with dignity. A bell rings as I push my way through the door and out into the night. I'm disoriented from anger as I walked down the street, arms folded against the cold. I should've at least gotten my coat before venturing out, but I didn't want to be with them one more minute. There's a coffee shop a couple blocks down and I head for that. I'll call a car to take me to my apartment.

I bypass the coffee shop in favor of a bar. The Flying Pig looks inviting with its neon sign with winged piglets. I haven't been in here for years, but tonight seems like the perfect evening for a return. I stop by the enormous bar and don't have to wait long before a bartender comes over.

“What premium whiskeys do you have?” I ask, trying to rub warmth back into my arms. The cute bartender—his name tag says Dan—smiles at me. “We have just about anything you want. Is there a certain brand you'd like?”

I glance at the shelves of bottles in back of him. “I'll have a MacTavish gold, please, and make it a double.”

He swipes the bottle from the shelf and pulls a glass from underneath the bar. I slide my credit card to him. “Charge 15% for yourself,” I say.

He gives me a generous smile and walks over to the register on the other side of the bar. I place the glass to my lips when I feel someone has slipped onto the bar stool next to me. “Are you partying by yourself, or can anyone join?”

I was seriously thinking about sitting in a corner to enjoy my drink, but I would hate myself if I passed up this invitation. I swing to my right and there's Connell with his Stetson sitting back a little from his forehead, and a grin like he just saw an old friend. The man is wearing a jacket over his sleeveless white shirt and he still has the black pants that he was wearing in the restaurant.

“Are you sure you want to talk to me? Because the last time I saw you, which was…” I pull out my phone and check the time. “…about thirty minutes ago, you didn't seem like you wanted to have a conversation. In fact, you couldn't have dropped my dessert fast enough and run.”

“You forget, Poppy hires us to be pretty robots. I couldn't break character in front of the woman who hired me. When we were ushered out, I stayed to listen. That screen in the back of the restaurant is good for seeing and not being seen.”

“Did you get an earful? I hope that staged spectacle entertained you.”

The bartender comes back with my credit card, mumbles “thank you” again, then turns away to talk to another customer.

Connell picks up a shopping bag near him on the floor and thrusts a hand inside. He pulls out my coat. “Before I forget, you left this behind.” He slides an elbow on the bar. “You know, you walk fast for someone on such high heels. By the time I got out of the restaurant, you were at least a block and a half away. I had to jog to keep up with you. I lost you for a minute when someone walked in front of me and then found you again sitting at the bar.”

I chuckle and take the coat. Dan comes back and directs his attention to Connell. “Would you like something to drink?”

“What do you have on tap?”

Dan pulls a card from a holder with the beer selections. Connell studies it for a few moments, then taps the first beer listed. “I'll have this.”

Dan nods, departing to pull a beer from the tap.

“Before I discuss what I heard and saw, let's get a table.” He searches the room. “Why don't you sit at that table in the corner and I'll meet you after I get my beer.”

Before I can slide all the way into the booth, Connell is standing at the table with a glass of beer and an empty shopping bag.

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