Tessa is worth it. So what if the timing sucks? What if I feel like something the cat dragged in, and I don’t even have time to shave on most days? I’ll make time. I’ll find the energy.
For her. For me. If she still wants me. And shit, that’s not a given.
After six grueling hours, I still haven’t found a solution as to how to earn back Tessa’s trust, and I’m getting ready to leave—when I get ambushed by a redhead in a skimpy skirt.
“Dylan? Remember me? I’m Faith. I wanted you to be my personal trainer.”
“And I told you I don’t work mornings.”
The hue of her hair has to come from a bottle, as it’s red like blood, and it matches her lipstick. The color reminds me of the bruises on Tessa’s arms, and I scowl.
Not that my scowl would deter her. She’s been after me for weeks now. She’s obviously immune.
She bats her lashes, which are long and black and weird-looking. Dyed with something, too. “Come on, Dylan, please…”
Jesus. I can’t swear at her, as she’s a customer at the gym. How fucked up is that? “I said I can’t.”
She pouts, and my fists itch to do damage, so I grab my stuff and turn to go. Two more girls are now trailing after me, and I glare at them, hopefully looking forbidding enough for them to stay where they are and not attempt to engage me into any sort of conversation.
I never minded the flirting so much before. As I settle the straps of my backpack more securely over my shoulders and set out toward the campus and the sports department, I wonder about that.
Then again, before I wasn’t seeing Tessa’s face on every girl, didn’t hear her voice in their chatter. I also didn’t have this headache from hell pounding at the back of my eyes, like Thor’s hammer. It’s a miracle my eyeballs haven’t popped out of my head yet.
Normally I’d jog to the sports center. I’m a trained athlete. Up until a
couple of months ago, I’d wake up early and go running, then train a couple more hours on campus. Now the only exercise I do is some machines at the gym when it’s quiet and running like crazy when my brothers are sick or in trouble.
Trained athlete or not, by the time I reach the sports center I have black spots swimming in my vision, and I’m panting like a dog. Sweat is trickling down my back and into my eyes despite the cold, and I wipe a hand over my wet face as I enter.
“Dylan.” Coach West looks up from a folder he’s been studying, and he frowns. “Is it raining outside? You’re soaking wet.”
“Nope. Not—” I crash into a chair, fighting to catch my breath. “Not raining.”
Dammit.
Coach West’s eyes narrow, their pale gray echoing the overcast sky outside. “You okay, kid? You don’t look too hot.”
“I’m okay.”
“Are you sick? Maybe the—”
“I’m not sick.” Impatiently, I glance at my watch. Miles has to be home by now. “You said you had some forms for me to fill out?”
“Yeah.” He swivels in his chair and digs through the folders stacked on a shelf under the window. “How’s your little brother?”
“He’s better.”
“And the other one? Mike, is it?”
“Miles. He’s okay.”
“So now you have more time for your studies. For yourself.”
“Not really.” I fight the urge to drum my fingers. “Look, Coach, I have to go. I’m late.”
He swivels back around, a bunch of papers in his hand. “Do you want to have another scholarship, Dylan? Do you want to continue your studies, or are you here because I asked you to? Let me know, so I don’t waste your time or mine. Getting you back into the program isn’t simple. I had to call in favors.”
I hunch forward and close my eyes, the pain behind my eyes spiking. “Sorry, Coach.” I press the heels of my hands into my forehead. “You know I used to live for this. For football, for the team. For a chance to make this my career.”