I smiled. Despite my feeling exhausted, pissing off Oakley Davis made the late night worth it. I felt alive. This was better than my morning manifestation meditation. “Practice hard, and maybe I’ll give you your Instagram login back. I know you like the attention.”

“Fuck you,” he growled. His chest heaved as he looked me up and down. He was so angry that he looked wild. I met his stare with an equal level of determination.

“It’ll be a pleasure to work with you,” I replied with a polite smile.

He stormed off, and I watched him disappear around the corner in the direction of the practice building. I went toward my home with my mind reeling about everything I needed to get done, but when I got to the next intersection, I sighed in resignation and turned in the opposite direction of my apartment, toward the Athletics building. I didn’t trust Oakley Davis one bit.

* * *

“You can’t do this. I woke up to some strange chick in my room, going through my phone,” I heard Oakley complain as I walked toward Coach Howard’s office.

“Sounds like a typical night for you,” Coach replied with a chuckle.

I couldn’t hold back the quick snicker that escaped my lips. I slowed my steps, composing myself, and then leaned in to listen to their conversation before making my presence known.

“I did not consent to this.”

“And I don’t give a fuck. You’ve been reckless. Belligerent. You put this entire program at risk. Just because you don’t care about going pro doesn’t mean that you can fuck off all season. You might be good, but you’re not good enough to act like this. The university wants to see you get your act together, and they aren’t afraid to exploit a public relations intern to do it. Now suit up for practice.” The coach dismissed Oakley. I have to say, it was super fun for me to hear Oakley get his ass handed to him.

I cleared my throat and walked into the office just as Oakley was about to leave.

“Good morning, Coach Howard! Oakley Davis hand delivered and on time for practice, just as promised!” I said in my most chipper voice and flashed the coach a colossal smile. “I trust that you’ve got it from here unless you need me to type up that report for you?”

Coach Howard glared at me and then barked, “Oakley still owes me another full hour of makeup practice. I’ll be impressed when you make that happen.” That was Oakley’s cue to storm out.

“Un-fucking-believable,” he snarled as he practically stomped out of the room.

I turned to follow, and the coach called my name and handed me a piece of paper.