Page 13 of The Comeback Pact

I change into a pair of sweats and an oversized sweatshirt before looking at my phone. Mom texted earlier, wanting to know how the meeting went with Coach, and I haven’t written her back yet. I’m the one who wants to get back on the dive team and resume a normal life. My parents would be happy to wrap me up in a safety blanket for the rest of my life. If I tell them Coach isn’t going to let me dive this year, that’s all the ammunition they’ll need to reinforce that I should focus on something else. “The future” is a concept my parents keep parading in front of me, and their version of it doesn’t involve me diving. It almost didn’t involve me returning to Warner.

I mean, sure, I’m probably not going to dive at the Olympics, but can’t I just soak up the rest of my collegiate athletic life? Ilovediving.

While I stare at Mom’s text, wondering how to word what I want to say, I get a notification from the school’s app. I click on it, wondering if NoOne got back to me, but when the name pops up, my teeth gnash together. WestB.

Seriously?

Was I not clear enough earlier when I said I didn’t want to go to his stupid football practice? I can hear my parents’ shock now. They dragged all of college athletics through the mud after my incident, but football was their main point of contention. After all of that, I don’t even know why any football player would want to talk to me. The amount of criticism the program took was substantial, though in hindsight, it didn’t do anything.

In order to read the message he’s sent, I have to accept him as a contact. I tell myself not to, but I’m too damn curious why he would be reaching out again. Does West Brooks actually talk through text, unlike in real life where he just stares at everybody? Is he the type to send a one-word message? Or even worse, has he sent something like a question mark because he expects me to know what he wants? That sounds exactly like something a pompous football player would do.

I have to admit, he has that mystery factor. And the body. Jesus. I’d have to be visually impaired to miss all of his muscles through his sweat-drenched shirt earlier.

I suck in a breath as realization strikes. They read my message on the bulletin board, didn’t they? He and that stupid quarterback.

My face flames at the thought.

Before I can mull it over, I click on his name.

WestB: Hear me out.

The little bubbles are up like he’s still texting, and I lie back on my pillows, clutching the phone. One would think he’d have put everything in a single message because I could just as easily block his ass before he writes anything else. Then again, maybe he didn’t expect me to accept him so soon.

Shit, I should’ve waited. This looks too eager, and I am definitelynoteager.

I can always block him later…

Since he left himself wide open, I type out a quick response.

McKennaK: No.

I smirk. I bet West Brooks doesn’t hear that word a lot.

He should.

The rest of his message comes in a few moments later, and my eyes widen at all he’s written. I scroll down and then back up. It’s a block of text, and even though my intuition tells me this is about to piss me off, I read it, anyway.

WestB: Don’t be mad, but I read the note you left on the bulletin board. I can train you. I gained twenty pounds of muscle my senior year of high school, and I’ve gained more each year while here. I use a combination of cardio and strength training, heavy on the strength training. Lots of the guys ask me for help coming up with their own routines. My major is exercise science. Tell me what you need, and I can help.

That was very…car salesman-y.

McKennaK: Why?

The question flits through my brain and stays there like a concrete barrier. I was never on his radar before. What the hell is going on?

WestB: Because.

I growl in frustration. There’s only one reason he would be trying to be nice to me right now.

McKennaK: I’m not going to your stupid football practice. Tell your coach I decline.

WestB: Did I say anything about that?

McKennaK: If it’s not about that, what’s in it for you?

I mean, he’s a football player. They don’t just do nice things for people.

WestB: What do you need training for?

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