Page 22 of Hell's Kitten

She nods with a grin. “The Kittens might be a little…uh…well, we’re enthusiastic, but we don’t exactly have a lot of trophies,” she says with a chuckle. “The Panthers, though? Our football team. They’re pretty damn great. Won state a few times. And their coach is openly gay. It attracts a lot of queer players to the team and therefore the college in general. And the town. Have you been to Creams yet?”

I arch an eyebrow at her. “Creams?”

“The Ice Cream Parlor,” she explains as we approach a double door. “The best gay bar in a fifty-mile radius.”

Something shivers within me. I might be twenty-three and done my fair share of drinking, but I’ve never actually been to a bar or a club, let alone a queer one. Of course Parker never mentioned it, probably because he didn’t want to have to make up excuses as to why we couldn’t go there.

The usual flash of rejection cuts through me, but I’m surprised at how it’s already duller compared to the previous week. Instead, I wonder if Nim knows about this place. I can’t exactly see him hanging out somewhere like that, but he might have some local knowledge he could pass on to me. Thinking about him makes me feel warm, too. But it’s also complicated, so I try and forget about it for now.

As soon as we walk through the doors into the gym, the nerves come back with a vengeance. My hand immediately flies to my mouth, and I start nibbling on my thumbnail.

The room is split into two different groups. Those wearing a mixture of purple-and-teal hoodies, T-shirts, shorts, and bows, and those in regular clothes. It’s almost half and half. My stomach drops, and I turn to Zazzle.

“How many spaces do you have to fill?” I ask.

“Oh, everyone gets on the game-day squad,” she says breezily. “Cheering for the Panthers is super fun. But, um, there are only three openings on the competition squad.” She briefly looks apologetic, but then she squeezes my arm with a little squeal. “Honestly, a lot of people start on game day before making it to comp. We train together and have a lot of socials, so everyone feels included. I’m sure you’ll do great!”

I bite my lip and look around again. She’s right. I’m the only guy trying out, and there are just four in uniform compared to around twenty girls. That makes a difference if I want to fly again. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I haven’t even set foot on the mat yet.

“How many competitions do you do a year?” I ask.

“In theory…three regionals and then grand nationals in Nashville in spring,” Zazzle says brightly. However, I hear the ‘but’ before it even reaches her mouth. “But we rarely raise enough money to actuallygetto nationals. We do the Cheer First program, so we don’t have to qualify at regionals to go further.But winning a smaller comp or even coming in the top three would probably go a long way to getting sponsorship. I haven’t made it there yet.”

She shakes herself and laughs.

“Wow, sorry. You don’t need to know all that. Honestly, what matters is being a Kitten. It’s a family. We don’t need trophies and medals and stuff.”

I see the wistful look in her eyes. “Although…they might be nice every once in a while?” I suggest.

She laughs again and pats my back. “Maybe. Why don’t I let you warm up? Good luck out there!”

I give the air a soft punch. “Go Kittens,” I say weakly.

“That’s it!”

She runs off, waving to a bunch of her teammates who are sitting on the bleachers. I inhale slowly, then let it out. “Okay,” I whisper to myself. “You can do this.”

I went for a run before I arrived here to warm up my muscles, so I drop my bag and get right to stretching, drinking half my bottle of water in an attempt to keep my mouth from drying out. Some of the girls seem to know each other and are chatting happily. A lot of them have the same high ponytail and sparkly bow, wearing little more than a crop top and shorts vibe, which I’m used to. And obviously, if that’s how they feel comfortable, that’s great. It’s what works for me, after all.

But then there’s a pale redheaded girl with a pixie cut, wearing a faded My Chemical Romance tee and knee-length shorts who catches my eye. The others seem to be giving her a wide birth. That’s all the invitation I need to wander closer as I circle my shoulders and rock my head back and forth.

“Hey,” I say with a dorky wave, immediately followed by an internal eye roll. Yeah, I wouldn’t want to be friends with me, either.

To my surprise, pixie girl’s face lights up with a smile. “Hey! Are you trying out?” She then does her eye roll out loud. “Of course you are. Why else would you be standing in front of me stretching? I’m Alannah.”

She sticks out her hand and I gladly take it. “Jessie,” I reply.

“Nice to meet you,” she says with a cheeky wink. “Hey, did you see that the hoodies have ears on the top? How cool is that? I heard that one of the girl’s moms hand sews them on. I think that’s adorable.”

“Or tacky, depending on your taste levels,” someone says from behind us. We both turn to see a stunningly pretty tall girl with impressive blonde curls giving us a tight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s holding a clipboard and pen. “But apparently, we all have to look the same for ‘team spirit’ or something. Names?”

I blink for a second, composing myself. Yikes. Is this the captain? “Uh, Jessie Garras,” I say before remembering to smile.

“Alannah Connick. That’s Alannah with the ‘h,’ in case you were wondering.”

“Tara,” the girl replies. “Without the ‘h,’ in case you were wondering.”

She might still be smiling, but I catch the slight hint of mockery as she parrots back Alannah’s words to her. Before either of us can react, she ticks twice on the clipboard list, then moves on with much higher enthusiasm to some of the other more traditional-looking cheerleaders.

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