Page 8 of Studs Up
“But is it, though?” He asked with faked curiosity.
“You’re gonna need my mediocre goals,” I said mockingly. “When your back line can’t keep track of the other fucking team!” It was a weak insult. In truth, that wasn’t his fault. Marcel wasn’t a strong player, and why he had a spot here was a fucking mystery.
But Nolan Reed wasn’t going to call Marcel out, and he had to seethe in silence and take it, which made it incredibly satisfying watching his face turn red. There wasn’t much I could use against him, which was even more infuriating.
“If you can’t pull your shit together, I wouldn’t be shocked if you never came back.” My skin prickled with furious anger. I sucked in a deep breath to let him have it when Coach Mirren shouted.
“Reed, Monroe, my office, now!” His voice carried across the field, loud and clear, and everyone heard.
For a second, we matched glare for seething glare. He was so fucking infuriating on every single level, and that old crush hadn’t died the death I hoped it would. He was the biggest asshole I’ve ever met, and he was the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. I hated myself for it.
He turned first, marching across the field and straight for the building. Coach lumbering on just ahead.
I stalked after them. I could not stand that man. I could not stand being near him. I couldn’t even stand looking at him because those fucking blue eyes had me in a vice grip.
The trek to the office was a long one. One whole soccer field and navigating a maze of halls until we stalked into the Coach’s office. Nolan bodied his way in first. I kicked at his heel, and he turned those hot eyes on me, and I remembered what a fucking mistake it was to irritate him.
“Sit down and shut the fuck up.” Nolan sat in one chair, crossed his arms, and silently stewed.
I reluctantly sat and stared at Coach and ignored the prickle of my skin on the left side of my body. The little hairs stood up and reached for him.
We had never been this close together outside of a game. During matches, my job was my distraction. There wasn’t enough of one now. He was all I could think about.
Coach gave each of us a solid glare of parental disappointment before he leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. The chair creaked as it was tested to the limits of its engineering.
“You ever seen The Parent Trap?”
“Hayley Mills or Lindsay Lohan?” Nolan asked without missing a beat. I turned my head to him.
“Lohan,” I said. “Obviously.”
“Don’t even start with me, Monroe. Mills was the goddamn heart of that movie, and Lohan couldn’t hold a fucking candle.”
“At least Lohan had a personality. Mills was flat and bland.”
The way his mouth opened and his eyes sent daggers my way gave me the most uncomfortable hard on.
“If you think Mills had no personality. I’ve got some fucking news for you. Lohan didn’t even have the acting chops to pull it off.”
“You fucking take that back, you little-”
Here we were, so worked up that we were fighting over a movie, like children.
“The point is,” Coach cut through the bickering. “They couldn’t get along until they were forced to deal with each other.”
“Yeah,” Nolan snorted. “Then they found out they were twins. He ain’t my fucking brother.”
“God help us if he was,” Coach muttered. He tossed a key card on the table. “You’re rooming together until you two can pull your shit together and get along. Monroe, you and Charlemagne are switching rooms.”
“No way,” I gasped. “Coach, come on.”
“Bad idea, Coach,” Nolan warned.
“Look,” I gestured between us with a heartless smile. “We’re getting along. We agree. This is a bad idea.”
Coach leaned forward and stared at us pointedly.
“You two are on the same side. Act like it. If you two can’t figure out how to play nice, neither of you are coming back. Get out of my fucking office before I handcuff you two together.”
