Page 62 of The Long Game

Mr. Vasquez’s brows shot up.

Yeah, not concern. Whatever kind of relief I thought I’d felt had been a lapse in judgment. Clearly.

I said very, very calmly, and with that smile I knew he found so appalling, “Do you know what?”

“I don’t know what.” His lips mirrored mine, tilting. “But you’re gonna tell me anyway, aren’t you, darling?”

That stupiddarlingcame back. It angered me.

“You.” I planted a finger on his unshockingly hard chest. “Can really be an ass.”

He looked down at my index finger as it impaled his left pec. An eyebrow rose. “I think you can do better than that.” His gaze met mine again. There was a challenge in there. “I did insult your binder. Again. I deserve a little more.”

He did. I narrowed my eyes, the words dancing on the tip of my tongue.

“Come on, darling,” he said, lowering his voice. “Let it out for me.”

Let it out for me? Who did he think he was?

“You.” I stabbed his chest with my finger. Anger swirling up my throat. “You are so exasperating that I can’t.” Another jab. “I can’t with you, you stubborn, know-it-all, curmudgeon of a man!”

My words hung in the air as Cameron looked at me with a face I didn’t understand. A face that wasn’t frustrated or angry or even remotely unhappy. In fact, it was the opposite.

“What’s a curmudgeon?” María said. “Is it the thing that Grandpa Moe got on his butt?”

I turned my head slowly, confirming María and Tony had returned. The nine-year-old was holding a grease-stained brown box and the teen was looking down at his sister with an expression of pure horror.

“Shut up, María,” Tony whispered loudly. But then he turned toward us. And his eyes landed on Cameron. They widened.

“Why?” she continued, glancing up at her brother. “They were talking about asses, and Coach Kisscam always looks like he’s angry about something.”

Tony remained silent, his face etched in a mix of shock and awe that I recognized well. He was starstruck. The kid had to know exactly who Cameron was and it looked a lot like he was finding outfor the first time. “Don’t call him that,” he murmured, coming into himself. “He’s Cameron—”

“He’s just Cameron,” I stepped forward. Meeting the teenager’s eyes. My voice had been a little harsh. I cleared my throat. “Or Coach Cam.” I stepped back. “And we should really head home.”

There was a beat of silence.

María sighed. “Honestly, I would be angry, too, if I had a giant thing on my bu—”

Tony pinched her side. “Clip it, stinky monster.”

“Hey!” María complained. “I’m not a monster! And one day I’m going to be a boss-lady like Miss Adalyn. And I’ll kick your ass with my high heels like I know she does to anyone that calls her stinky.”

My chest felt like it had been filled with concrete and I… God.

All the fight escaped me.

I couldn’t believe how or why someone would say that when I was nothing but a trainwreck who apparently called infuriating men names with minimal provocation, ripped mascot heads off costumes, was the face of an energy drink that praised entertainment over dignity, and fell into goat poo.

I’d never been liked or admired by anyone that fiercely. Like María seemed to do.

A hand fell on the small of my back, and when I was told, almost too softly, “Let’s go get your things, darling. I’ll walk you to your car,” I went. Not even questioning when that very same hand dropped and brushed the back of mine as we walked away.

I was beginning to understand just how exhausted I was from questioning every single thing in life.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Adalyn

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