“You’re not wrong.”
Sam picked up the pace, but before she left us in her dust, she looked over her shoulder and said, “Think about it.”
Oliver smirked at me.
“What?”
“You’re totally going to ask her, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but to pull it off, I’m going to need to take things to the next level.” I clapped my hands together. “And I’m gonna need the team’s help to pull it off.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Grace
“Ready to destroy a couple of miles?” Sam asked as she held my front door open for me.
“Definitely! I totally need this.” I stepped into the fresh air.
Yesterday Preach had left roses on my locker, and I couldn’t stop thinking about him and what I should do.
Willow’s advice to put everything on the table was ringing loud and clear, but I wasn’t sure how. I’d pushed him away so hard, and I still had mixed feelings about the way everything had gone down between him and me.
Then again, he was trying. The flowers were really sweet, too. He must still care, right? And I’d never felt anything like I’d felt when I was with Preach, and I missed that. Holy crap did I miss that.
“Hold on, Speedy!” Dad said, coming onto the porch, holding his cell phone. His hand was over the speaker portion.
Behind him, I could see Mom jumping up and down.
Dad put the phone to his ear again and waved me in. “Sounds great, Coach Stewart. Let me get Grace here and put you on speaker.”
Sam yelped and looked at me with wide eyes. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” I tugged her after me and all but leaped into the living room.
Kiara and Kenna were squirming around Mom, practically vibrating off the floor they were so excited next to her, with their hands over their mouths.
“What’s happening?”
“Sure, Coach. She’s here. Let me figure out how to get the speaker on here.” Dad held up the phone. “How do I—”
I grabbed the phone, dying to know what was happening, and then tapped the speaker button.
“Okay, Coach Stewart. We’re all here,” my dad said.
“Grace?” a male voice asked through the phone.
“Yes, sir. I’m here.”
“Hi, Grace. I’m Matt Stewart, head coach of the University of Wisconsin-Madison women’s track program.”
Sam grabbed my right hand, and a zinger of pain ripped up my forearm. I bit back a yelp and pried her fingers off.
“Oh my gosh!” she whispered with horror-filled eyes. “I’m so sorry!”
“It’s okay,” I whispered and then turned my attention back to the phone. “Yes, sir. Coach Stewart. It’s nice to speak with you again.”
“Likewise. Now, I’ve been reviewing your stats here and talking with your parents. You’re a very talented young lady.”