Team Player

by Adriana Locke

  “I got the job, here in Chicago!” Stella yells excitedly. “So I was wondering if you wanted a couple roommates?” She bites her lip and looks at me, eyes big and hopeful, face flushed from all the excitement.

  “Yeah?” I ask in shock. Never in a million years did I think she would give in. I know that she said she’s here because she got the job, but I’m what really brought her here. She doesn’t have to say it for me to know.

  “Yeah!”

  “What if I want more than a roommate?” My eyes search her face, looking for the answers that I need.

  I get my answers when she launches herself into my arms, tears streaming down her face, as she kisses me, her tears mingling with my sweat. The crowd explodes in cat calls and cheers, drowning out everything else. I pull back to look down into her face and kiss her one last time before putting her back on her feet. My teammates are all beating their sticks against the boards in applause reminding me of where the hell I am.

  The ref comes over a look of absolute bemusement on his face, “Can we play the game now, Dagger?”

  With a wink at Stella, I plop down on the bench in the penalty box. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “You sure?” He asks bewildered.

  Turning my head, eyes locked with Stella’s I nod, my lips sliding into a wicked grin when she blows me a kiss. “I’m sure.”

  The End

  Thank you for reading!

  Thanks so much for reading Sin Bin! If you enjoyed Stella and Jason’s story, make sure you pick up the next standalone in the Fulton University Hockey series. Levi’s story, Sweater Weather comes out this winter. You can add it to your TBR now!

  http://bit.ly/2zeisuCSweaterWeather

  About the Author

  Mandi Beck has been an avid reader all of her life. A deep love for books always had her jotting down little stories on napkins, notebooks, and her hand. As an adult she was further submerged into the book world through book clubs and the epicness of social media. It was then that she graduated to writing her stories on her phone and then finally on a proper computer.

  A nursing student, mother to two rambunctious and somewhat rotten boys, and stepmom to two great girls away at college, she shares her time with her husband in Chicago where she was born and raised. Mandi is a diehard hockey fan and blames the Blackhawks when her deadlines are not met.

  Also By Mandi

  STONED

  A Wrecked Novel-

  Amazon US: My Book

  Amazon UK: My Book

  Amazon AU: My Book

  Amazon CA: My Book

  Rhythm:

  Wrecked novella 1.5

  LoveHurts

  Caged Love Series Book One

  Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1uh4bKd

  Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1sUgoDK

  Amazon AU:http://bit.ly/1KUKs8b

  Love Burns

  Caged Love Series Book Two

  Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1JjgqGG

  Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1Jjx0Gt

  Amazon AU: http://bit.ly/1F9J16u

  TWISTED

  An Imperfect Love Kindle World story

  Amazon: http://bit.ly/2ved6xCTwisted

  Find Mandi

  Places to find MANDI on the internet

  FACEBOOK PAGE: www.facebook.com/authormandibeck

  TWITTER- https://twitter.com/authormandibeck

  WEBSITE- http://www.authormandibeck.com/ (sign up for my Newsletter and order signed paperbacks)

  INSTAGRAM http://instagram.com/authormandibeck/

  FACEBOOK READER GROUP (MANDI BECK’S BOOKS): https://www.facebook.com/groups/1023028511060131/

  YOUTUBE CHANNEL:http://bit.ly/2osZ78sYouTube

  OUT OF FORMATION

  Copyright 2017 Ella Fox

  Star cheerleader Elena Murray has had a crush on Colin Findlay for most of her life. She was sure he had no interest in her— right up until the night came when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, but an unexpected development followed by a misunderstanding brought her hopes for a relationship with him to an end.

  For more than two months Elena thought there was no chance she and Colin would ever find a way to be together.

  And then he turned up at her university as the new head coach for the football team.

  Chapter 1

  Elena

  My backpack is in the process of sliding down my arm when Becky Hillstrom—of the acclaimed Virginia Hillstroms, she frequently brags— starts one of her infamous inquisitions. Her firing off questions is in no way surprising since we jokingly refer to her as The Interviewer because she never stops.

  "How was your uniform fitting? Did you get that body butter I told you about with the shimmer, the one that doesn't smell like alcohol? And last but not least, tell me you took the time to read Julia's email."

  I nod as I set my bag on the floor and slide into my seat.

  “Which one is a yes?” she asks.

  I let out a little laugh as I unzip my bag to pull out my iPad, a notebook and a pen, all of which I set out on the desk.

  “Most of the above,” I answer. “The fitting went well—no gains since last year, which means I didn’t get any crap from Mandy. The body butter is as good as you said it would be, I’m so excited I finally found one that complements my apricot and honey body wash. As far as Julia’s email goes, I got it on my way here but didn’t even have time to skim it. Feel like breaking it down for me or should I start reading?”

  The way Becky's face lights up tells me that whatever the email says, it's exciting and she cannot wait to fill me in. Her expression suggests it’s either significant team news or unbelievably juicy gossip.

  When she dramatically leans closer to my desk, I'm sure there's gossip involved. "I freaking knew you wouldn't have read it! Honey, prepare yourself because I am about to give you some knowledge."

  I snort out a laugh and nod my head. "Hit me," I joke. No doubt this is gossip based, but I'm betting it’s nothing too good seeing as how this is the first day of our senior year in college. There hasn't been time for anything exciting to happen with our group since a lot of people only arrived back in town over the last few days.

  Since I spent the majority of the last eight weeks camped out on the couch at home trying to get over a broken heart I’ve been pretty oblivious. Not anymore, though. As of today, I've officially pulled my head out of my ass, and I am going to get back into the swing of things. No more sad sack me. From now on, it's all going to be positive.

  “Coach Adams got fired. F-I-R-E-D fired,” Becky announces dramatically.

  My brows shoot up as I take in the information. Coach Adams has been the head coach of the Tigers for the last thirty years. In this town, he is to football as God is to earth. There's a freaking statue of him out in the front quad for goodness sake, and each year there's a parade in his honor after the last game of the season. In the three seasons I've been a cheerleader for the university I've never heard anything less than reverential about him, which honestly has always struck me as a bit weird. Personally, I've always found him a bit pompous and a lot stiff, but that's just me.

  Football is a serious money maker here. Having a Division I football team and an award-winning cheerleading squad is a big deal at the university, and Coach Adams's high profile got the football team and the cheer squad a lot of money for equipment and travel. Whether he's the warmest guy in the world or not, he's like a religion in this town and on this campus. I can't imagine the athletic department without him at the helm.

  The more I think it over, the easier it is to conclude that Becky is wrong. There's no way Coach Adams is gone. I'm pretty confident he could run around the quad naked, and no one would say a word.

  “Wait a minute,” I say, my tone dripping with suspicion. “You’re pulling my leg, right?”

  Becky shakes her head. "No," she whispers emphatically. "He had an affair with a student last year and then dumped them during the summer. Apparently, it wasn't the first time he's slept with a stu
dent—but it was the first time the student he dumped had pictures and video to share with the administration. It was also the first time Coach Adams was dumb enough to have had an affair with someone who comes from a family full of major donors to the university. Even though technically the student is now an alumnus, it's provable that the affair took place over the course of their senior year."

  It's the juiciest thing to happen at our school since ever. I’m shocked but also endlessly curious about who Coach Adams had an affair with. “Shut. Up,” I whisper-squeak. “Does anyone know who the student was?”

  When Becky’s eyes light up as she grins like a Cheshire Cat I can tell she’s been waiting for this very question. “That shitty little ass-grabber, Michael. Freaking. Simmons.”

  Swear, my eyes bulge out of my head for like four seconds. Maybe even five. My brain rejects her assertion in the most definitive of ways. Michael Simmons was one of the biggest douchebags on campus. He graduated last year, but for the three years he was on campus when I was he managed to hit on or have sex with every girl I know. “There’s no way—”

  “Bible, this is the truth,” Becky assures me. “I thought everything you’re thinking right now when I found out. Captain of the football team, future president, Mr. Never-Without-a-Girl-on-His-Arm and voted Most Likely to Have Five Wives is at least bi, if not gay. To say he hid it well is an understatement.”

  “How is no one talking about this on Facebook or Snapchat? Both are like gossip central to this school," I point out.

  "It's because the whole thing is just starting to leak out now. By later tonight, social media and the entire campus will be on fire with gossip since we'll all be getting read the riot act this afternoon. A lot of this was covered in Julia's email, which you really should have read on general principle alone considering she's your coach," she says dryly.

  I give a sheepish shrug because it's not like I can argue the point. She's right.

  "Anyway," Becky continues, "the staff found out in waves. Julia was told to be on campus two weeks ago for an official meeting of the athletic department. She said she knew right away that calling her in before the school year even started meant something was up, and she wasn't wrong. Once she and the other team coaches had the info, they were sworn to secrecy. Some of what I know didn't get covered in the email, but since she's my cousin, I leaned on her until she gave up what she could."

  Becky’s eyes sparkle with excitement as she shifts in her seat, her hands sliding over the bright orange surface of her desk. “The bottom line is that we only know about it now because they’ve canceled all practices today for a mandatory meeting where the dean will be reading the entire athletic department the riot act. Anyone involved in sports here at the college has to attend. They’re going to lay the law down about personal relationships with the coaching staff.”

  I flip my hair over my shoulder as I roll my eyes. "Michael Simmons may have dabbled in some ancient ass but come on," I say dismissively. "Not one of the rest of us is even a little bit attracted to any of the coaching staff. They're all old. The college has absolutely nothing to worry about.”

  Becky nods in agreement. “I know,” she whispers dramatically. “Like any of us care about geezers who blow up balls all day.”

  I haven't held on to my virginity to lose it to a random coach—not that I'm saying being a virgin right now makes me smart. In fact, quite the opposite. I've held onto it because I'm an idiot who has spent far too many years focused on one person—the very one who wants no part of my virginity. I've done my best to like other people, including guys here at college that I tried dating but that quickly went nowhere. All of the binge-drinking around campus (and closet steroid use with the athletes) isn't attractive to me at all. Don't even get me started on how many of them don't know how to do laundry. There's a smell in the boy's dorms and apartments that is stomach turning, so staying away from them hasn't been a problem.

  Meanwhile, whenever my friends talk about my virginal state, I lie and tell them that I'm holding out for a business type. It's a lie. I have—um, had, dammit! Why does my brain not understand that it’s time to use past tense when thinking of him— a major crush on a man who is the epitome of the athletic type, and no one else has ever measured up to him in my eyes. Not even close. After the events that went down two months ago, I've decided I need to move on. The harsh insinuation that I’m too young to know what I want was a tough pill to swallow—one that’s still giving me indigestion.

  No, I need to focus. And right now I've decided the best thing to do is to set my sights set on what happens after graduation because once I'm out of college, I'll be meeting and interacting with different men. Surely it will be easier to find someone, right? In a perfect world, Monday through Friday my man will wear a suit, and on Saturdays, he'll wear nothing at all because we'll be busy rolling around in his bed. Sundays will be casual—maybe khaki pants and a button-down that is most definitely not sexy jeans that perfectly emphasize a ridiculously sexy ass or a T-shirt that shows off an unbelievably perfect upper body. Certainly not a chiseled jaw with a perpetual five o’clock shadow, perfectly kissable lips and coppery chocolate colored eyes that make me weak in the knees.

  Andddd I’m now thinking of him again. Dammit!

  Picturing that body and those see-through-everything eyes, even for a few seconds, makes my heart beat funny in my chest. I do my best to push those thoughts away. I need not to focus on him anymore. When will that get easier? I’m so lost in my thoughts that I startle when Becky taps my shoulder.

  Following the finger she's pointed to the front of the room, I realize our professor is writing something on the board. Shaking off my dreams of a perfect future I open my blank notebook and uncap my pen to take notes as the first class of my senior year gets underway.

  Chapter 2

  I had to run all the way across campus to make this meeting on time. I'm not even sure how I managed it, but somehow I did. A quick glance around the gym shows that the bleachers are almost full of cheerleaders, football, baseball, soccer, and basketball players. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see that none of the coaching staff are in place yet, which means I'm not going to get yelled at for being tardy. I spot my best friend waving at me from the very front row of the bleachers in the section where the cheer squad is sitting. I hurry across the shiny wooden floor and take the seat he saved me next to him, stretching my legs out in front of me dramatically as I lean into his side. Yes, my best friend is a guy. No, he isn't gay. No, we don't like each other. There's zero sexual tension, and there has never been.

  Miles is the yin to my yang. In addition to being the best friend a person could ask for, he's also my cheer partner and has been since we were thirteen years old. I love the camaraderie of the cheer squad in general, but Miles is my person. The two of us are considered to be a big deal in cheerleading circles, which is why we were offered full scholarships to a dozen schools. We narrowed it down to two universities with Division I teams, one Miles wanted and the one I'd had my heart set on from the start. There were two reasons I wanted to come here. First, it's less than twenty minutes from Nanny and Pop's house. Second, it’s his alma mater and I idolized him. What can I say—my reasoning on the second thing seemed solid at the time.

  In the end, Miles let me choose, which is why we're here, under an hour away from where we went to high school. The university Miles wanted to go to is clear across the country. Especially after the events of this summer I know we made the right decision in coming here.

  On every level, this school has been good to us both academically and physically. In the three years we've been here, we've helped the cheer squad earn half a dozen state and national championships, and for the last three years running we've taken first place in every one of the coed partner stunt competitions.

  The trust I have in Miles—as the person who tosses me into the air only to catch me—literally—within the palm of one hand is immeasurable. I’ve met dozens of fly girls over the years
who could be amazing but are instead stuck at being “good” because their partners aren't rock solid. That isn't the case with me. In all honesty, Miles is the more talented of the two of us. It takes incredible strength and stamina to throw a one hundred and twenty-five-pound five-foot five-inch girl for hours and hours every day, but he does it without complaint. I enjoy cheerleading, and I always have, but at the end of the day, the reason I've taken it as far as I have is entirely down to Miles.

  I grin as he playfully jabs at my side with his elbow so that I don’t do something crazy like fall asleep on him, something I’ve been known to do. The joke on the squad is that I’m borderline narcoleptic. I frequently fall asleep while waiting for the team to assemble and I also tend to nod off at the picnic tables on the quad. What can I say? I like sleep. A lot.

  “Are you cooking chicken breasts tonight or am I on my own for dinner?” Miles asks.

  After our freshman year when we both lived in dorms, we moved in together into an off-campus townhome his parents rent for him on a month-to-month basis. His family refuses to allow me to pay rent or any of the bills, despite my protests. I make up for it by keeping the house stocked with food and by doing all of the cooking. It’s the perfect arrangement for all of us.

  I yawn and stretch my arms as I sit up straight. “Don't be a dope, of course I'm cooking. I forgot my afternoon snack, which means I haven't eaten since lunch. Two tablespoons of peanut butter, an apple and a cup of cottage cheese weren't enough to fill me up. You don't know how badly I wish there were a way to automate the chicken breasts dropping onto our George Foreman grill about eight minutes before we get home. I’m that hungry.”