The Jock Script (The Script Club 3)

“Thank you.”

That was it? I could deal with that. I smiled politely and stepped aside.

“One more thing.”

“Yes?”

“We’re going to need to deal with our…situation…this summer. Now isn’t the time to discuss it, but I’m not interested in headlines. Sadly, this contingent has forced our hand.” He circled his wrist meaningfully.

“What contingent, sir?”

“The queer one. I’m all for equality, but this isn’t the space for that type of expression. There might be a quieter way to voice support. Perhaps we can donate to charity in the short term, but ultimately, today’s display doesn’t represent our brand.” He clapped my shoulder and fixed me with a condescending half grin. “We’ll save this for another day. Enjoy your win. It’s a grand achievement.”

Mr. Myers walked away with his head held high.

And me? I just stood there. Frozen with a sense of helplessness I hadn’t felt since…since Asher had knocked on my door two months ago.

I swiped my hand over my jaw and stared, unseeing, at the field. The crowd had dwindled. I didn’t see anyone I knew. Well, no one I wanted to talk to. I sighed heavily, dialing Asher’s number as I made my way to the parking lot.

“Hello?”

“Where are you?” I asked by way of greeting.

“I’m in San Marino, aiding Susan Peterson at her celebratory pool festivities. This is very unplanned,” he whispered in a panicked tone. “I thought this would be a future event with at least two weeks to organize. But she insisted it had to be today. I’m currently in a house filled with strangers. Very loud strangers. I’m passing out beverages and pouring pretzels into bowls, but I’m about to run out of useful things to do. Are you coming soon?”

“I’m on my way now.”

“Good. Congratulations, by the way. Everyone here is very thrilled with you. They think you’re wonderful,” Ash said.

“What about you?”

“I think you’re…amazing.”

And just like that, I felt whole again. Like a better version of me.

“I’ll see you soon, baby.”

San Marino was one of the wealthiest, most exclusive neighborhoods in the LA area. Palatial estates with columns, circular driveways, tasteful fountains, and ornate lighting sat far from the grand tree-lined streets. Some of the oldest-monied families in the country owned homes here. And quite a few of them sent their darlings to Westgate Prep. I’d been invited to quite a few dinners and booster events hosted by parents like the Petersons and every time I parked my battered SUV in front of one of these manors, I was sure someone was going to pop out of nowhere and ask if I was lost.

I couldn’t even find a parking space today.

I settled on a spot a block away and speed-walked to the Petersons’ palace, sweating through my Westgate polo in the relentless mid-June sun. I traversed the long driveway and followed the sound of music and laughter to the backyard, which was basically a small park. A ginormous lawn divided the pool from the seating area. I didn’t know where to look first. There were people everywhere.

And suddenly, they were chanting my name.

“Coach J, Coach J…”

I lifted my arms like a rock star hamming it up for rabid fans, then slapped high fives and gratefully accepted a beer. I couldn’t gracefully escape polite small talk, so I did my duty, acknowledging that even though this was a weekend impromptu parent-hosted event, I was still on the clock. These weren’t my friends. These people paid my salary.

I slowly made my way inside, though I was stopped a few times to discuss the finer points of our winning season, before finally reaching the biggest kitchen I’d ever seen in my life. No kidding. Crystal chandeliers hung over not one, but two marble islands. And if I thought it was mayhem outside, it was even crazier in here.

I craned my neck, looking for Asher, but I didn’t see him. I set my beer bottle on the counter and pulled my phone out.

“There he is! Get that man a drink,” Susan Peterson shouted above the din of chatter.

I was surrounded again. On the bright side, I spotted Ash, standing on the fringe near the far island. I waved a greeting and gestured for him to join me. I wanted him close so I could gauge how he was faring. This wasn’t his crowd, and knowing he’d been bamboozled into helping was alarming. Asher liked organization, and this was chaos. Loud voices, spilled drinks, opened bags of chips, crumbled napkins, and everyone was talking over each other.

“Coach J!” Carly broke through the mass of people, pulling a pixie brunette in her wake. “Hey, we did it!”

I gave her a high five. “We did. Congrats.”

“You too.” Carly put her arm around the other girl and grinned. “Coach, this is my girlfriend, Amber.”

“Nice to meet you, Amber. I’ve heard a lot about you.”