“Ignore baby biceps over there,” Reid says. “He’s just messing with you. Look, sometimes you just have to take control of your destiny and hope for the best.”
Hope for the best?That’s his sage advice?
Christ. This is what I get for seeking dating tips from serial bachelors.
The door bangs open and Coach Collins stalks in, Coach Walker and the rest of the coaching staff trailing behind like ducklings.
“Listen up.” He takes his place behind the podium at the front of the room. “I know all of you knuckleheads are looking forward to a few days off, but a bye is not an excuse to get wasted and make poor decisions.”
“He’s looking at you, DeLaurentis!” someone calls out.
Laughter erupts behind us, and Coop uses his middle finger to scratch the back of his head.
“Settle down!” Coach grumbles. “I’m serious. We’ve got recruits on campus this weekend and I swear to Christ, if I get a single call from campus police, you’ll all be running laps until you puke.”
“You know, the more he makes that threat, the less terrifying it sounds,” Parker whispers from behind his hand.
Yeah, right. It’s all fun and games until an underclassman pulls the group punishment card.
“You’re the best and brightest Waverly has to offer, so act like it. Enjoy your time off and don’t embarrass yourselves, this program, or the university.”
Words to live by.
Thirty minutes later, Coach deems us sufficiently chastised and dismisses us. The guys make noise about getting food at The Diner, but I’ve got other plans.
After all, Piper can’t ignore me if we’re face-to-face.
There’sno answer when I knock on Piper’s door.
Shit. This was stupid. It’s Friday night. She’s probably out doing whatever it is people with lives do on the weekend while I’m standing here like a sad sack, ‘taking control of my destiny.’
I scrub a hand over my face and make a mental note to ignore all future dating advice from Reid. The guy may be a genius on the field, but this hope for the best philosophy isn’t working for me.
That’s because it’s a terrible strategy.
I’m just about to give up when there’s a muffled sound on the other side of the door.
My muscles tense and I strain my ears, waiting to see if it repeats.
The silence stretches on for nearly a minute, and I knock again, louder this time.
“Goawaaaay!”
A soft moan follows the request.
What the hell?
“Piper, are you okay?”
She doesn’t reply, and my mind slips into overdrive.
What if she’s hurt? She could’ve fallen and hit her head or slipped in the shower and broken a bone. And because she lives alone, it could be days before anyone finds her. The news runs horror stories like that all the time.
My gut twists.
Piper is all alone in there, and she might need help.
Or maybe she has a guy over and she doesn’t need you busting up a good time.
