Page 124 of Necessary Roughness
“I heard that,” Roman said. “How’d you score in Physics?”
“93 on the final exam,” I said. “Which brought my overall grade up to a B-plus.”
Roman grunted. “If you’d gotten a perfect score on your final, you might have moved your grade up to an A.”
“Considering how the class started,” I said, kissing him on the cheek in passing, “I’m thrilled with that B-plus.”
Roman made a disapproving noise.
With their help, everything was moved back into my bedroom within a few minutes. But when I went back out to lock the truck, there was a man standing on the curb staring up at the house. He was wearing a baseball cap, so I didn’t recognize him at first.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
Behind me, Logan let out a soft curse. “That’s Zane. The assistant coach who’s always checking up on us.”
Shit.
“I just came by to see how my players did on their exams,” Zane said, eyes locked onto me. He spoke formally, like he was in a Shakespeare play rather than having a casual conversation. “But I see my suspicions have proven to be well-founded. You aren’t merely their study partner. You have been living here all semester.”
“Not all semester!” Logan replied. “Just since we… uh, actually, I meant to say something else. She hasn’t lived here at all.”
“I watched her move out last week,” Zane replied dryly. “And I spent the last ten minutes watching you move her back in, discussing how happy you are to have herback.”
Knox and Roman stepped up behind me on the porch. “Zane, let’s all be reasonable here. We had an empty room. It doesn’t hurt anything for—”
“I take my jobveryseriously,” Zane hissed. “I have access to your student records, and check your attendance and test results three times per week. I have spreadsheets dedicated to each player’s academic performance, spreadsheets analyzing areas of concern and areas that have room for improvement. If you knewhow much time I spent in these spreadsheets, watching over you without you knowing, you wouldn’t be so cavalier about moving your girlfriend in and keeping it a secret.”
“Fuck. You’re right. I’m sorry,” Knox said. “But let’s not lose sight of the full picture. Since Sloane moved in, we’ve played great. We won the conference championship, the first time in school history!”
“Can’t you look the other way?” Logan asked. “Nobody is staying in her room in the spring semester. She’s not hurting anything. Nobody has to know.”
“She’s our good luck charm,” Roman added.
“Yes!” Knox clamped his hands over my shoulders and gave me a little shake. “You said it yourself a month ago: I shifted my performance into a new gear. Sloane is that gear!”
Zane looked at each of us like a mediator passing judgment, then lifted his chin. “If you’re caught, you won’t be the only ones punished. My rear end is on the line, too.” His gaze settled on me. “I cannot risk my job, my career, just so you can play sleepover. I cannot be held responsible.”
Crap. I could see we weren’t going to convince this man. He had a tiny amount of power, and he was going to wield it.
A car pulled up behind my truck, and then thelastperson I expected to see got out. “You forgot this,” Morgan said, voice thick with annoyance.
“A stack of paper plates?” I asked as she handed it to me. “You didn’t need to bring these over. You can keep them.”
“This isyourtrash,” she said haughtily. “I cannot be held responsible for it.”
It was almost word-for-word what Zane had said. He noticed it too, and was gazing at Morgan with fresh interest.
“Thanks,” I said, tossing the paper plates onto the porch. “Morgan, before you go, I want you to meet someone. This is Zane, one of the assistant football coaches.”
“I’m technically the assistant to the offensive coordinator,” Zane said while shaking her hand. “There’s quite a bit of data analytics involved.”
Morgan’s expression was one that I had never seen. Was that… attraction?
“You must work with a lot of spreadsheets,” she said.
“Indeed I do. I’ve been called a freak in the sheets… spreadsheets, that is.”
Both of them chuckled at the joke. I glanced at Knox, who gave me a look that said,what the fuck?
