Page 64 of Taking Sides

I let out a small laugh, but Grady maintains his serious demeanor.

“Are you sure?” I ask. “It feels like the boys need a morale boost more than anything.”

“This game is hard work. If they aren’t willing to put in the effort and work through their mental blocks, then it’s better they quit now.”

I nod my understanding. I hope he’s right. They’ve gone three games without a win, and I know the toll that can take on their confidence.

By the time Grady’s boot camp–style practice is over, even I’m feeling defeated. The boys look more miserable than ever, and they made so many mistakes, you’d think we were in week one practices.

“See you tomorrow,” I say to Grady on my way out. The boys are long gone, and we’ve locked away all the equipment.

He nods and runs his hand over his jaw absently as he stares straight ahead from where he sits behind his desk. “Yeah, you too. Have a good night.”

I haven’t known Grady all that long, but I know he feels a lot of pressure to win. The JV team in a slump has him in a funk too.

Our styles of coaching are different, but we both want what’s best for the boys and the team. I don’t think the issue is as simple as the boys needing to work harder at practice. They have to put in the work, of course, but they also need inspiration. They need to remember why they love this game. Or maybe that’s just what I’d want. Then again, there’s a reason I never became the same kind of player as my brother. And Grady has a lot more experience than I do.

As I push out into the evening night, I breathe in the cool air. I left my jacket in my classroom, so I hurry toward my SUV.

I’m almost to my vehicle when I notice the black truck parked next to it. My steps slow as I take in the man leaning against the side with one jean-clad leg crossed over the other. He’s wearing a white baseball cap and a Moonshot Hockey jacket. His head is down like he’s trying not to be noticed, but even without flashing his face, there’s something about Conrad Shepard that demands attention.

A goofy smile tugs at the corners of my lips. “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t wait to see you again, and I was hoping I could convince you to hang out tonight.” Under the brim of his hat, his blue eyes sparkle with hope and his cheeks are splotched with red. He isn’t always as nervous talking to me now, but moments like this I can tell he’s still worried I might turn him down. As if.

“What’d you have in mind, Charming?”

SIXTEEN

“Oh wow.” Whitney’s gaze lifts as we enter my apartment. “This is way less bachelor-y than I pictured.”

My chest shakes with a small chuckle. “Thanks.”

“Except for that.” She stops just past the entryway, where the apartment opens up to the living room on the left and the kitchen on the right. Whitney stares with an amused smirk at the TV sitting in the middle of the entertainment center.

“I thought it was big in the picture but whoa.”

D-Low is halfway down the steps when I hear him. He comes to a halt, and his lips twist into a grin. “Shep, you sending dick pics?”

“She’s talking about the TV,” I say with an eye roll.

Whitney laughs at him, which only spurs on my roommate. He continues the rest of the way downstairs. I lead her into the kitchen and grab a Dr Pepper from the fridge, then pull out all the movie snacks I have stashed in the cabinets.

“I didn’t know we had company,” he says, then, “Hey, Whit.”

I lift both brows as I stare at him. “Whit?”

“It’s okay. I’m used to people shortening my name, and it’s better than Ney-Ney.”

“I told you I was going to invite her over,” I tell him.

“Yeah, but it was fifty-fifty on if she’d come.” His grin pulls higher. Fucker. Then he says to Whitney, “You’re not a Ney-Ney. And I can’t call you by your last name, for obvious reasons.”

Oh geez. She’s been here less than two minutes, and it’s already awkward.

“We’re going to watch Dirty Dancing on the big TV,” I say, cutting in before he says more.

“Wait, we are?!” Whitney’s voice climbs several octaves, and her face splits into a big smile.