Hotchke’s hands went up. “Just joking.”
“Don’t joke with Coach’s girl,” Whitey said with a laugh.
“I’m not his girl.” Charlotte rushed the words out so quickly they sounded defensive.
“Yeah, okay,” Whitey said. “That’s why you were leaving his house in the morning the other day.”
Charlotte shot a look at Asher, whose face reddened. “Whitey!”
Clearly he’d spoken out of turn.
“Coach Turner and I are not a couple, boys,” she said.
“Well, you should be,” Asher said. “He’s been way cooler since you came to town.”
Charlotte frowned. “Well, we’re barely even friends, so that has nothing to do with me. I’m helping him with his part in his sister’s recital, end of story.”
“So, it’s just business,” Dunbar said.
“Yes,” Charlotte said. “Sorry to disappoint you guys, but there’s nothing romantic going on between me and your coach.” She scanned the room. “Now, can we get back to work?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Asher said. He clapped his hands, signifying to the team it was time to buckle down, and she was glad he did. Charlotte was pretty sure if they continued down this line of questioning, one of the boys would find out that while there was nothing going on between her and Cole, there was a part of her that couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like if there was.
By the end of the rehearsal, most of the boys were doing the dance full-out, and they weren’t half bad either.
“Okay, we’re going to do this one more time, but you guys have to practice on your own, okay?” She spoke loudly, over their noise. “This time, give it everything you’ve got and leave it all out on that floor.”
A chorus of cheers rang out in the studio.
At that moment, Cole strolled in the front door of the studio and caught her gaze through the studio window. Time stopped for a moment, and she couldn’t look away. What was happening to her?
“Oh, yeah,” Hotchke muttered under his breath. “Nothing going on there at all.”
The other boys reacted—and not quietly—as Cole walked into the studio.
“You’re early,” she said.
“Yeah, I came to make sure these guys aren’t giving you any grief.” He eyed the group of kids, who grew oddly quiet.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “You didn’t think I could handle a bunch of teenage boys?”
Cole looked flustered. “No, I didn’t mean . . .”
“Boys, places, please.” She commanded their attention, and they seemed to know she meant business. They took their spots for the beginning of the song. “You’re going to do it like your life depends on it, and if you slack, I’ll make you do it again. Got it?”
The boys nodded.
“Good.” She shot Cole a look. “You might want to move.”
His forehead scrunched. “Oh, right.” He moved out of the center of the floor, off to the side, and she scanned the room of football players. “Make me proud.”
They all put on their game faces and waited for her nod. She pressed play on her phone and the low bass of the start of the song began.
The boys snapped straight into character, just like she’d taught them to do.
They each had their own parts to remember, and after all of their practicing, they mostly did well. She’d figured out which of the athletes moved best and featured them, and gave the others simpler moves.
“The most important thing,” she’d told them, “is your attitude. I don’t care if you get the steps right. If you sell it with your face and your swagger, nobody in that audience will care.”