Page 25 of Dream Chaser
Boone strolls up, sipping from a bottle of water like he’s still cooling down from a sprint. “Which one of y’all said something about goat cheese and rage lifting?”
“That’d be me,” I admit. “She asked about deadlifts. I gave her the real answer.”
“Bro.” Hart laughs, clapping me on the back. “That therapist lady asked me if my helmet was a metaphor for emotional repression.”
I blink. “What’d you say?”
“I told her I only wear it to keep from catching Boone’s elbows to the temple.”
Kolby snorts. “The book chick asked me which romance trope I was. I panicked and said enemies-to-lovers. She said, ‘Classic make-athlete energy.’”
“My favorite was that kid, Grady, although I suspect he thinks I’m old as fuck,” I mutter. “I told him my favorite cartoon wasAvatar, and he just nodded like he was doing charity.”
Boone looks around like he’s about to confess something big. “I told the makeup girl I’d wear eyeliner if it was waterproof and Knights colors.”
“Oh, you’re going viral.” Hart laughs.
“Already am.” Boone shrugs. “Camila said she clipped it. I’m gonna be a GIF.”
We all groan at once, and Kolby lifts his bottle. “To surviving influencer hell.”
We clink, laugh, and I sink into a stool like we just walked off the field, bruised egos, tight shirts, and all.
Game day’s nothing compared to this, and it’s only five o’clock.
All of the sudden, a loud as hell, “All right, team, listen up!” comes from behind.
I turn and see Mags holding a damn megaphone.
Coach Cohen just shakes his head while Ben, Mags’ father, gives her a high-five.
“You are a menace to society,” Iz yells out, laughing at Mags, who skips toward Iz, Lexington, and London.
“Hell of a turnout,” Coach says. “You pulled it off. Proud of you boys.”
Lucas Links grips his shoulder. “We’ve got press buzz already. Numbers are strong. Keep it up, and we’re gonna fill every seat we bought up so there’s a black and gold presence amongst the green.”
“Team bus will roll from the field at eight a.m. sharp,” Cohen adds. “Airport wheels up at nine thirty. Don’t be late.”
“See you all then,” Lucas says as he walks toward his wife, Tessa.
Across the brewery, the girls are packing up. Riley’s folding T-shirts like she’s nesting in merch, Lo’s doing inventory with a pencil behind her ear, and Izzy’s juggling a phone attached to a mobile charger, eyes glued to the screen.
“Okay, we need to leave by six a.m. sharp,” she says. “If we stop for snacks, someoneother than meis paying. And we’re not playing ‘Who Packed It Best’ again. Everyone’s luggage goes in the back like a civilized group of adults.”
Lexi twirls a roll of Knights duct tape. “I call shotgun. I want to introduce you all to real music. Meaning, I’m not listening to T Swift the entire trip.”
Sydney raises an eyebrow from where she’s sweeping. “You realize we’re driving into a snow system, right?”
Kolby crosses his arms. “You know there’s a chartered flight, right? Climate controlled. Comes with snacks. Doesn’t require ice skates for tires.”
Boone grins. “You’re not seriously gonna drive five hours through a blizzard when you could be sipping hot chocolate at thirty thousand feet?”
Hart throws in, “I’ll give it ten miles before one of y’all ends up sideways in a snowbank.”
Izzy rolls her eyes. “We’ve got studded tires, emergency blankets, and?—”
“Iz’s weirdly obsessive survival kit. We’ll be fine,” Lo interrupts.
