The Jock Script (The Script Club 3)

“Wait.” I stepped in front of her with both hands up. “If Carly needs help, I’m on her side. And I’m her coach. We should talk to her together.”

She narrowed her gaze. “I know where you’re coming from. She’s a great goalie and we need her, but—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Let me handle this,” she insisted firmly. “I’m a mom. I’ll be sensitive. But if I need help, I’ll let you know.”

I stuffed my hands into my pockets and shrugged. “Okay.”

I wasn’t sure how to argue my side and yes, it occurred to me that a closeted bi man might not be the ideal advocate anyway.

This was what happened when you played it safe. My assistant coach, who happened to be one of my favorite people at Westgate Prep, didn’t really know me. If she did, she’d have figured out a while ago that I was as far from “perfect” as a person could be.

And there was that word again.

Perfect.

I absently pulled my buzzing phone from my pocket. I had my finger on the screen and was about to check the caller ID when Shana yelled my name.

“Yo, hot stuff, don’t forget to lock the office before you leave.”

I gave her a thumbs-up, then glanced at my cell and froze. I’d accidentally pressed Answer and…

Gulp.

Okay. Well, mature adult men didn’t hang up on their ex in a panic. They said a polite hello and made reasonable-sounding excuses to cut the call short. Right?

I sucked in a cleansing breath and put my cell to my ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, Blake. I didn’t think you’d pick up. I had a quick ‘thinking of you’ speech planned,” she twittered nervously. “How are you?”

I collapsed on the bench. “I’m fine. You?”

“Good. I’ve been busy at work and helping my sister with wedding plans. I just…” Her voice caught before she blurted, “I miss you.”

“Katie…”

“I meant…as friends. We said we’d still be friends, and I’m extending the friend olive branch,” she replied in a bright tone. “If you’re free to go out for a drink or for coffee sometime, I’d love to catch up and see how you are. Carly was talking about practice at a family dinner last weekend, and it felt weird not to hear those details from you.”

Oh, right. As if things weren’t complicated enough, my ex-girlfriend was my goalie’s cousin.

An uncomfortable silence built as I formulated a response that measured the right amount of kindness with a stiff arm.

“Sure, uh…maybe we can do that sometime. I don’t know when, though. I’m swamped with work and school. It’s not a great time to—”

“Oh, that’s fine. I understand. I do. Like I said, I figured I’d be leaving a message and the message was…I’m thinking of you, and I’d like for us to make an effort to be friends. That’s all.”

Did I want that? Not really, but I had a serious issue with honesty, so I replied, “Okay.”

“Perfect. Call or text…whenever.” I could almost feel her smile through the connection before she added, “Take care of yourself, Blake.”

“Thanks. You too.” I pushed End Call and let out the world’s longest sigh.

Fuck.

I was not equipped for real life. It would be nice to have a fucking script or a reference of any kind to guide idiots like me out of no-win situations. Somehow, I doubted Katie wanted to be friends. She wanted me to meet her halfway. She’d said, “Perfect,” as if it were a forgone conclusion that I’d realize we were perfect for each other.

And why did that word keep coming up?

Perfect.

There was no part of me that resembled the definition. It wasn’t even a concept I aspired to. What was the point in setting myself up for failure? I had a hard enough time dealing with the fallout from my everyday fuckups. And let’s be honest…no one had all the answers, and no one really wanted to be perfect or—

Wait. My hookup did.

He graded himself on his daily effort. He wanted to be perfect.

Just thinking about that guy made me smile. He’d been so earnest and honest, in spite of the fact that we were supposed to be completely anonymous. He might not know my name, but he knew more about me than any other person on the planet. That was crazy. And probably sad too. I wished I could see him again.

Okay, fine. I wished I could do other things with him again too. But it would have been nice to talk to someone who knew I was bi and might lend a fresh take on the static in my life. It felt very fucking wrong to sit on the sidelines from the confines of my closet, watching a teenage girl struggle with homophobia, or to give my ex the impression that I was someone she’d want to befriend in the first place.

The cute guy with glasses wouldn’t do that shit. And though he didn’t necessarily seem like the badass type who’d jump in to save the day, he had strong convictions.