Page 53 of The Huckleberry Bookshop

“Have a seat.” He gestured to the chair across from his desk.

“What’s up?” Mullens asked, folding himself into the crappy chair. Maybe if they won some cups Louis could get chairs with better padding.

“I chose you as my number-one pick.”

Mullens head snapped up. “Say that again?”

“I chose you.”

He’d been chosen? He hadn’t been force-traded, unloaded or rejected?

“You were my long shot. My Moby Dick. I figured if I had you, I had a chance at the playoffs.” Louis sat on the edge of his desk, his hands clasped in his lap.

“Moby Dick?” he asked, forcing down the feeling of failure. It had been up to him to lead, and he hadn’t.

“The big catch. The unattainable what-if. The one that keeps you up at night and haunts your dreams.”

“I don’t think that’s the theme of Moby Dick.”

Louis leaned forward. “Except now you’re going to kill me, my career, my team. Very Moby Dick.”

Mullens shifted uncomfortably, not appreciating the heavy stack of guilt Coach had just dropped on him. If he’d known he’d been specially selected, would he have acted any differently? No. He was doing his best. It’s just that his best, all the way from his personal life to his career, wasn’t enough.

“What I didn’t expect was this huge chip on your shoulder.” Louis sat back, arms crossed. “Your previous coaches all said great things about your discipline, but where diet comes into play, I haven’t seen that.”

“I’m sorry I failed you, Coach.”

Louis was silent for a long moment. “Do I need to let her go?”

Mullens’ heart beat faster. “Who?”

“Don’t be coy. Athena Gavras.”

He shook his head. “She’s great.”

“Yeah? That’s strange, seeing as you sure as heck aren’t listening to her—despite her credentials and expertise.”

Mullens kept his head lowered, unsure what to say. To Athena. To Coach Bellmore.

“Do yourself a favor. Go to the bookstore down the street, grab all of her cookbooks and learn from them.”

“She only has one.”

“What?”

“Her second cookbook comes out in March. I’m on the cover.”

Louis blinked. “You?”

“And I am following the diet plan, sir.”

He scoffed. “She struck you from her roster last month for being uncooperative. And don’t think I didn’t hear about you crumpling up her pancake recipe on day one, and her throwing a drink on you at the gala.”

“What?” There had been no throwing of drinks. The most that had happened was that he’d spilled his watered-down apple juice on her when he’d gone to catch her.

This was a bigger mess to unravel than he’d realized. He stretched back in his chair, wishing he could get himself traded and start fresh somewhere else. It sure would be easier right about now.

“Do you wanna see my binder of recipes with the stains on them?” he offered. “I follow her diet.”

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