The door opens and Lindsay pops her head in. I take in her appearance, with her tight black jumper and perfectly tousled auburn hair. I already know she’s about to say something I won’t like. “Get up and get dressed. It’s Friday and we’re all going out.”
I was right. “No.”
“Excuse me? Think of it as team bonding.”
I groan as she throws my own words back at me. I toss my pillow at her, but she’s already gone.
I don’t think I can move. My legs are jelly and not in the post-sex-amazing-orgasm-can’t-move kind of way, but in the torturous post-work-out way Tatum has been conditioning me all week.
I understand why the girls want to go out. It’s been a hard week of practice, it’s still early summer, and we don’t have weekend practices yet. In a few weeks, we’ll be consumed with soccer seven days a week and sometimes twice a day.
Oh, my God. When the team starts with two-a-days will I still be training with Tatum? Will I be doing three-a-days? I don’t know if my body will survive. Maybe I should go out tonight while I’m still alive to enjoy it.
My roommate comes into our room as I’m attempting to move into a sitting position.
“Need some help?” Her brown hair is in waves down her back and her make up is runway-worthy.
“I need an ice bath.” All week, drill Sergeant Trevino had me running suicides, up any hill he could find, and miles upon miles that would rival the cross-country team.
“What’s the deal with all this training anyway? It seems weird, right? The fact he’s only training you?”
The thought occurred to me as well, but I haven’t voiced it. I sit up against my wall and face my best friend who is sitting in the same position on her bed.
“Super weird, but you should all feel lucky. It’s torture.” Any other girl would kill to have his attention focused solely on them. They’ve all started showing up to practice with faces full of makeup and their hair done as if at the end of practice they won’t look like the Joker. I’m not changing who I am for a somewhat-attractive coach and even more, I couldn’t care any less about Tatum Trevino.
She shrugs and gets up, rummaging through her closet for something to wear tonight.
“Where are we going, anyway?” I ask.
“This new club downtown called Frenzy.” Most of the freshmen already have fakes, but they all look at least twenty-five anyway.
Morgan pulls a skimpy pink dress from her closet. It’s sure to show off her toned legs since I’m not sure it will even cover her ass. I push myself off my bed, a whimper leaving my lips involuntarily as I stand on my own sore legs.
I make my way to my closet and pull a steel-blue dress from the back. It’s the first thing I grabbed and it’s good enough for me. The spaghetti straps cross into an ‘X’ over my back and the front dips into a ‘V’. It’s short enough to not make me feel like a Mennonite compared to my friends, but my vagina won’t accidentally flash anyone either.
“Bri, you ready?”
I throw on some lip gloss and mascara and make my way downstairs, which admittedly takes me longer than it should. My feet and legs are already screaming at me for wearing heels, but after I take a few shots I won’t even feel them anymore.
We all climb into a handful of Ubers and make our way to Frenzy. The rest of the team is already pretty buzzed thanks to their pre-gaming. I missed out on the early shots because it took me twenty minutes to wobble down the damn stairs.
Tonight I plan to get drunk enough to forget the pain and the annoyingly hot pain in my ass known as Tatum Trevino.
“Can we agree to no shop talk tonight? The thought of soccer hurts my legs,” I ask and they agree. Tonight will be all play and no work.
We get to the club and pile out of the cars. Since Frenzy is new and not in the center of LA, the line is short and moves quick.
Inside the club is wild and swanky. The long dance floor runs down the center with sections of booths and tables slightly lower than the rest. The lighting is all cool blues and purples to illuminate the space and give a sexy vibe. Large salt lamps hang from the ceiling for mood lighting and a gorgeous touch. The main bar sits opposite the DJ booth on either side of the dance floor.
There’s a VIP lounge above the right side of the bar with glass walls, but curtains are pulled into the corner, for privacy should the occupants want it. This place is incredible.
And for being new, the club is crowded. We grab two large booths sitting back to back in an attempt to not get separated. Most likely we’ll all end up on the dance floor anyway.
A waitress comes over and takes our drink orders. We stick to shots for the quickest and most effective way to get hammered. After a few, we hit the dance floor where I find a cute guy to grind on.
Like most people, my eyes can’t help but travel up to the VIP lounge. A girl is leaned into this guy, her cleavage pouring out of her top and her hand high on his thigh. The guy’s arm is draped on the back of the couch where I can see a colorful display of tattoos that look all too familiar.
It seems I notice him at the same time Lindsay does.
“Oh my God, is that Tatum?”
“Where?” The rest of the girls break their necks looking for our new coach.
“Up there,” I tell them and point to the secluded lounge.
We watch as his head turns to face the pretty blonde. His boyish smirk appears and his eyes glance from hers down to her ample chest. He looks away, toward the glass window of the lounge, and recognition clouds his gaze.
He sees us, the twenty of us staring up at him like a crowd of deer stuck in headlights. He gets up and I assume he’s about to come down and bust us, but I’m wrong. Instead, he stands and closes the curtains to the lounge.
“I’m going to grab a drink.” No one hears me because they’re all too busy gossiping about our coach and saying how jealous they are of the slutty blonde at his side. Gross.
I get two more shots from the bartender and down them before I can think any better of it. The cute guy I was dancing with finds me at the bar and offers to buy me a drink. I think his name is Nick or Nate or something along those lines.
“Thank you,” I tell him as I take the overly priced Long Island Iced Tea. I’m already drunk and this drink is sure to take me to the verge of blacking out.
“That guy’s a tool.” The words are whispered in my ear out of nowhere. I whip my head to the right and the motion makes me dizzy. What the hell does he want?
“You’d know.” My date, if you can call him that, got distracted talking to one of his friends and doesn’t notice the new addition standing beside me.
Tatum laughs at my insult and it’s not even fair how hot he is. “You shouldn’t be sleeping around; it’ll only make you lose focus.”
“Are you talking from experience?” His smirk drops and his eyes turn black with hatred. “Why’s it okay if you sleep with the bimbo upstairs and I can’t sleep with Nick?”
“It’s Neil,” the guy says, coming back up behind me and truthfully I’d thought he’d left.
“Because you’re drunk and can be taken advantage of. You have too much to lose by sleeping around.”
“Okay, Dad, but I’m a big girl and if I want to fuck this guy I’m going to.” Neil places a hand on my hip and I glance down at it. I had no intention of sleeping with this guy, but now I want to just to spite Tatum.