Page 18 of The Change Up
Chloe Mariano stands in front of the team dressed in skin-colored tights, a soft cream and beige plaid tweed dress, white boots that sit over her knee, and a pink wool coat. She looks as feminine and elegant as ever. Damn, why is she wearing that in front of all these guys?
“Damn, who is that?” one of the guys whispers.
“She’s fine,” someone else adds.
I know she can hear the whispers, but she’s not showing any sign of caring.
Instead, she’s focusing on me. And the daggers she’s throwing my way say she’s not too happy to see me right now.Fuck.
“Team, this is Chloe Mariano. Chloe comes to us from the newspaper staff. She will be traveling with us and attending home games to cover the season. I expect Chloe to be treated with respect, while I expect Ms. Mariano to respect your boundaries as well. Let’s all work together, keep the drama off the field, and make this a season we won’t forget.”
Chloe gives everyone a tight smile that seems forced. She lifts her hand in a small wave, and it’s then I notice that she’s not as tough as she is pretending to be. There’s a slight tremor in her hand exposing her nerves.
Did she ask to cover our season? What kind of game is she playing? How long has she known? This is definitely information that should’ve been shared while we were forced to spend the night together.
This season is shaping up to be one of the weirdest seasons I’ve faced.
And it better come with a trophy at the end.
“Ihave no idea what the hell I’m doing.”
Today is the first road game. It’s been three weeks since the dreadful day when I was assigned sports. After a lot of thought and a lot of self-pity, I’ve accepted this new challenge.
It’s fine. Everything is fine.
This is a new journey. It’s a plot twist in the story that no one saw coming.
Am I being forced to spend time with a boy who never leaves my mind? Yes, but that’s okay. I won’t let him distract me. Especially when he and I will never work out.
And I mean never.
The only boyfriend I want can be read in black ink, found between the pages, and is fictional.
I’m Chloe Mariano, and I’ve been faced with nothing but challenges since I was six years old.
I spent way too much time last night going through my closet weeding out outfit after outfit. I have no idea what I’m supposedto pack, what I’m supposed to wear, and where I’m supposed to be during the game.
Am I going to be in the locker room? A press box? Or in the stands? Each scenario called for a different outfit.
Finally at a quarter till midnight, I grabbed my laptop and typed out an email to my professor hoping that she would be able to give me insight on what is expected of a sports reporter. When I cover lifestyle or interview restaurateurs I never have to worry about these things. I show up in a dress or skirt that is professional but still my style while interviewing the band, the chef, or whatever the assignment calls for. I never have to second guess myself like I am right now.
There was a reply in my inbox when I woke up this morning. It simply said that I’ll need to touch base with the coach and see what he prefers. So here I am at seven-thirty, showered in a silk robe and staring at a mess of clothes and a semi-empty suitcase.
At least I can pack my pajamas. Three pairs line my suitcase. One white lace short and tank top set, one lilac linen long-sleeve and pant set, and one light pink and white pinstripe shorts and button-up short-sleeve top set.
“What happened?” Brynn gasps from the doorway.
Turning her way, I pull my bottom lip between my teeth while shrugging. I let my arms drop with a smacking noise against my thighs. Moisture gathers in my eyes, and I feel the need to start crying.
Brynn’s expression softens and her shoulders relax as she strides into my room with two mugs of coffee. “Chlo, what’s wrong?”
“I have no idea what to pack. I have no idea what I’m doing. Maybe I should just drop the class. I have enough credit hours…who needs the newspaper experience for a resume?”
“Take a drink.” She thrusts the mug of coffee toward me, and I take it from her, bringing the warm liquid to my mouth.Blowing on it a few times, I take a sip. Rich coffee greets my taste buds which is followed by an overwhelming taste of vanilla, chocolate, and the fruitiness of Irish Whiskey.
Swallowing, I turn my attention back to my roommate, who’s sitting cross-legged on my bed with a smile as big as the Cheshire Cat. “Baileys?”
She shrugs. “Figured you could use some before your trip.”
