He doesn’t pounce on that admission the way I thought he would. Instead, his voice is earnest when he responds. “I can help you, Saylor. I know your style of play better than anyone else here.”

“Coach Taylor has coached me for the past three years. I think she’s equipped to give me feedback. And all of the clinic coaches have seen footage of us playing.”

“So have I.”

I scoff. “You watched hours of footage of every team attending in order to prepare to come here?”

“I never said I watched footage of anyone else.”

“That’s even worse! I don’t want special treatment, Beck.”

“What does me watching you play have to do with special treatment?” he snaps.

“You just said you only watched me play, not anyone else. That’s special treatment.”

“I watched it months ago. Didn’t have anything to do with CFOC asking me to do this clinic.”

That catches me off guard, but I don’t have a chance to respond. “Scott! You done socializing?” Coach Taylor calls.

I turn from Beck to see everyone else has begun running laps. I curse under my breath. I hate being called out at practice, at least for a mistake. I don’t mind the compliments. I could count on a couple of fingers how many times I’ve been chastised during practice. More than anyplace else, I stay focused on the field. Always. The fact that this lapse is due to Beck makes it all that much worse.

I jog to the edge of the field and then start really running, leaving Beck behind me. I garner more than a few curious glances from the other girls as we run circles around the field.

“Did your volunteer coaching gig with Adler Beck lead to some beef?” Emma questions, falling into step beside me.

The two girls running in front of us both slow their pace as soon as she says his name. Real subtle, guys.

“What makes you say that?” I reply, not looking away from the grass rapidly being swallowed beneath my long strides.

“He looks pissed.”

“He’s German—they always look that way.”

“Saylor.” Emma breaks out her rarely used, no-nonsense tone.

I sigh. “Fine. I fucked him at Scholenberg and told him he should leave just now. Happy?”

It’s a testament to how shocking this revelation is that Emma has some trouble staying upright. She stumbles a couple steps over absolutely nothing before managing to stay vertical and keep pace with me. I’ve told her some crazy things. We’ve shared some wild exploits. But based on her sudden balance issues, I’m guessing if I glanced up, she’d look pretty stunned.

“I can’t believe you fucked Adler Beck and didn’t tell me until just now,” she finally recovers.

I scoff. “Please. You suspected. He’ll sleep with practically anyone who flirts with him.”

“Did you flirt with him?” Emma questions, sounding dubious.