Score •• louis a.u.

chapter 30

I knock on the door for the hundredth time, blowing little strands of hair out of my face. When he doesn’t answer again, I groan.

“JOHN!”

There’s still no response so I give up, clutching my football and making my way down the hall toward the lift, uncomfortable in the silence. Everyone disappeared and I have no idea where they went. As soon as I’m in the lobby, I get directions to the pitch. Whoever thought to build a hotel surrounding a football field was a genius. I push open the doors to outside and am met by over a hundred pair of eyes turning my way. My breath catches and my footsteps stutter.

“…excited to have each and every one of you use this pitch for the next three weeks.”

I catch the tail end of what’s being said.

“Uh…”

“Can I help you?” A man in a black business suit asks me, his chin turned snidely upward. I am immediately turned off by his attitude and scoff.

“Sorry to interrupt your oh-so-important meeting, but I was just on my way to practice at one of the goals.” I say, walking swiftly past him. “You may continue.” I am tempted to bow at him but get the feeling he could single-handedly destroy my life with a flick of his nicely pressed sleeves.

“You cannot practice here,” he calls, making me stop. I turn around slowly and survey him.

“Why not?” I demand.

“Because this field is for team members only and unless you’re going to announce that you’re wearing a wig and have socks stuffed in your shirt, you’re not male.”

I have to laugh at his absurdity, like really laugh. The guys standing around him shift awkwardly as they watch our interaction and I snort.

“Um, I’m a coach. And my team is in the hotel. And I’m not wearing a wig, nor did I stuff socks down my shirt, so unless you have proof of who you are, you’re not going to stop me from practicing,” I retort, turning back around and marching toward the farthest net.

“Trey!”

I freeze and my mouth turns into a little ‘o’ of despair. I spin back around and John is staring at me from across the field, hands on his hips and polite anger on his face.

“John!” I squeak out, nervously chuckling. I start walking back toward him, the man in the suit, and the hundred football players.

“Do you have any idea who this man is?” John demands, smiling tightly.

IF I DID DO YOU THINK YOU WOULD LOOK LIKE YOU’RE READY TO SERVE ME AS DINNER? I shout in my head, wringing my hands.

Instead, I shake my head and await his answer.

“This is Rick Felding, league manager and owner.”

My mouth drops open. Fucking shit. Mind as well hang up your cleats forever, looks like you’re out of a job. Again.

And that’s when I notice my team is present. I see Angel staring holes into the ground, Scott looks embarrassed for me, and Louis looking directly at me.

“Trey Marcus. Pleased to meet you?” My voice goes up in pitch and I phrase it as a question, nervous as all hell.

“Well, Trey Marcus, I will gladly overlook our little disagreement if you would kindly let me finish my meeting with these lads. Then a word, if you will, in my office?” Rick says, smiling. He looks happy, but his eyes tell a different story. I have no choice but to nod and hang my head, shuffling over to slump against the wall of the hotel and curse my life.