SAAS INSANT REPLAY
Obviously flustered, Jack turned hurriedly to leave, but I called his name out.
He turned to face me hopefully.
"Thanks for the soup, Jack. That was really very kind of you. See you tomorrow?"
"Bright and early. Sleep well, Hayley."
I could still see his smile in my mind even after he Disapparated.
Chapter Seven
Off-Time
After that late night meeting, I had cowardly done my best to avoid Jack. I darted out quickly after practices and tried my best to make sure we were never alone during training.
Connor obviously knew something was going on. He had spent far too much time with us not to notice how I kept ducking Jack's obvious attempts at talking to me. He did not say anything about it, but I could barely withstand the knowing glint in his eye and the way he constantly seemed on the brink of laughter.
Bryce and Des knew, as well. After much interrogation, Des admitted to having knowledge of Jack's crush on me. She would not say in any certain turns how long it had been going on, but I gathered that it had pretty much been from the start.
"I'm not telling you shit," Des growled, once I had told her my estimations. "Look, H, we're cool, but I don't snitch. Jack's my friend. I ain't gonna tell you anything else that he doesn't want you knowing. Just don't go too hard on him."
Bryce was much more forthcoming. He gave me a lengthy explanation of Jack's love life. Sadly, a lot of it seemed pretty depressing. Apparently, Jack was known for carrying torches. Bryce also told me that when his last girlfriend had broken up with him, Jack had been pretty devastated. "Sat around not eating and staring at shit for fucking months," Bryce described succinctly. "Pussy."
Because Fletcher had us training so fiercely in the frigid early December weather, I was not overly conspicuous in my efforts to flee after practice; everyone was rushing home to head to a warm fireplace and a new pair of socks.
However, it was much more difficult to evade Jack after our last two matches. Due to a rogue Bludger nearly decapitating Bridget before she could get the Snitch, we lost the first one against the Wimbourne Wasps; the only positive thing about the whole ordeal was that there was no celebration and, thus, no reason for me to hide.
After our most recent victory against the Tornadoes, though, I had a much more difficult time. I spent a large amount of time discussing cats with Bridget, but the sacrifice was worth the win.
We had not returned to McCoy's pub since that night. Frankly, I was not hoping to hurry back any time soon. Nevertheless, a few team members had been spotted leaving the place – evidently Bridget had been deemed too drunk even to use Floo powder—and so people kept flooding into the place, hoping that Puddlemere United might stop by again. Dad was completely elated at the boom in business and had enlisted the help of my elder brothers to join him in manning the bar, now that I was so busy.
So, instead of bringing our patronage to McCoy's, we had gone to some random bar Bryce liked. It was grimy and smelled like piss; naturally, Bryce was a frequent client. Jack had almost succeeding in cornering me into a conversation, but I fled to the loo and then disappeared for the night.
I felt horrible about avoiding him. The look of hurt deepening in Jack's eyes with every successive evasion was damn near killing me. I felt like I was betraying Gryffindor by behaving so spinelessly
However, the fact remained that I had no idea what to say to Jack. It would have been much easier if I simply wanted either to reject or accept his offer of coffee. Before that night, I had never really considered Jack for anything beyond friendship. Yet, he was ridiculously kind and boyishly attractive. Part of me wondered what would happen if we did go out on a date.
But as soon as I saw Oliver, Bridget or no Bridget, all thoughts of Jack and his romantic potential were swept away like an old Comet 360.
Upon our defeat of the Tornadoes, I no longer needrf an excuse to dodge Jack. To the immense relief of Puddlemere United's frostbitten fingers and toes, we went on holiday for Christmas.
Quickly, I was much too busy even to dwell on my luckless love situation. As per usual, Nora worked herself into a tizzy trying to bake every cookie in Britain. Our tiny flat was smeared in frosting, covered in sprinkles, and lined with peppermints.
It got so bad that I took to sampling the white powder on Nora's nose every evening to see if it was flour or confectioner's sugar that night; I even made private bets with myself and, pathetically, grew grumpy when I got it wrong.
I nearly had to force her into the shower one evening so that Carter could take her out to dinner. Nora protested heatedly, spouting off in Russian and fretting about the state of her snickerdoodles, but I made sure she put her best pearl earrings on and wore a dress devoid of powder.
I also did my damndest to act surprised when she floated home, blissfully serene, and showed me the diamond ring on her left hand. Her happiness was so intoxicating that I felt as though I really was hearing about the proposal for the very first time, even though I had helped Carter plan it right down to what color tie he should wear: blue, obviously, to match Nora's eyes.
Nevertheless, I was still surprised and, pathetically, a bit misty-eyed when Nora asked me to be her Maid of Honor.
Nora's joy seemed to permeate into everything. When Christmas arrived, I had never seen everyone so jubilant before. Dad and I had scrubbed down the pub until it shined and then hung loads of baubles and lights.
Ayden brought the tree, and we all enjoyed a grand Christmas dinner together with my nieces and nephew running around everywhere with bits of wrapping paper stuck to their tiny heels. Nora and Carter only stayed for a bit before they had to go visit their respective families, but Dad stuffed them so full with food that I doubted they were able to eat much more for the rest of the day.
Times were so happy that I even let Dad indulge and eat a large slab of pot roast.
"Just for today, mind you," I warned him with as much as a threat as I could muster while smiling. "A Christmas treat."
And this year produced the biggest haul yet. I had received various gifts from my teammates, the most notable of which being the large gift basket of beauty products from Bridget and a cuff bracelet made of dragon skin from Des that had "No Fear" embossed into it. Connor gave me an enormous box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Jelly Beans, and Bryce sent me some of the music he always blared in the weight room.
With a guilty conscience, I unwrapped the necklace from Jack before rolling my eyes at the milkshake machine Cooke sent.
Fletcher, as well as my dad, gave me thick books on Quidditch history to add to my collection. My elder brothers thought they were funny and compiled every clipping they could find about me that had been in the press lately.
When I threatened to set fire to their presents, they handed over the real gifts they had chosen for me.
Despite my protests that they should be saving for their wedding, Nora and Carter both chipped in and got me a Quaffle signed by the Dominator along with their explicit promise never to tell any of my teammates, a set of potions that Nora explained would repel frostbite, and a tin full of double chocolate chunk brownies.
The only person who had seemed to forget about me was Oliver. I tried my hardest not to be put out, but I was still a bit disappointed by his neglect when I showed up for our very early morning run on New Year's Eve.
Triple knotting my trainers, I did my best to act normally as he approached me.
"Hey, 24. Have a nice Christmas?"
"Yeah, it was sweet. You?"
"Brilliant. Excited to be on the other side of it, though. I hate going so long without a match."
I nodded and fastened my scarf more firmly around my neck when Oliver pulled something out of his pocket. "Thanks for the new playbook, by the way. It's perfect."
I did my best to hide my grin. To be honest, I had spent quite a bit of time fretting over what exactly I should get Oliver.
"Though," he continued with a light chuckle, "it did make me feel a bit silly. I didn't send this to you because I thought you might think I was copying you, but here you are."
Oliver handed me the object in his hand, and I ran my gloved fingers over the cover of a tattered red book, tied up in white ribbon.
"It's my old playbook from back in Hogwarts. I thought you might like it. Not some of more sophisticated drills, but they work just the same," he added, sounding slightly embarrassed.
"Thank you," I said when I finally found my voice.
Oliver grinned and tucked the book back into his coat pocket for safekeeping. "You ready?"
I nodded. "How many kilometers?"
"Oh, eight sounds like a nice number. I don't want to push you too hard. You've probably gone soft with the holidays. Too much turkey," he added as he prodded my belly with his index finger.
He laughed at my outrage as I started chasing after him.
The new year rolled in with the usual hard liquor shots and Collin's insistence that we go around the table and declare our resolutions.
With a quick glance at me, Dad vowed to try to eat healthier. When it came to my turn, I mumbled something about scoring more goals. Really, though, I was thinking about my situation with Oliver. I had allowed myself to get far too close to him, and I could sense that the slight fancy I took to him upon our first meeting had developed into something far more dangerous.
On the other side of the holidays as spirits were dwindling and my family members were heading back to their daily lives, I grew more and more restless. I hated the listless feeling in my bones and impatiently hoped that training sessions would resume.
Because Nora and Carter were so often busy dealing with wedding plans—they wanted to get married quickly, during the interim after Nora's internship ended and before she began her job as a fully qualified Healer, so that they could go on a honeymoon—I often found myself alone in our flat as they looked at apartments or spoke with caterers. The wedding would have to be a small affair, but it still required a hell of a lot of planning.
I offered to help as much as I could, but they absolutely refused any of my offers of money. They did, however, agree to have the reception at McCoy's.
"It just feels a bit like home, you know?" Nora commented.
I had to agree with her. I had been helping Dad barkeep almost every night to stay occupied and avoid lonely nights on the saggy sofa.
Dad was thrilled to have my help and my company as I easily slipped into the old routine of serving drinks and ignoring the cheeky, drunken comments of overly zealous regulars seeking sanctuary from their wives.
When I had been out of the sky for over a month, my feet began to feel heavy against the ground. I was very excited, then, when an invitation arrived by owl to an anniversary party at Connor's house about a week before practices began once more.
Looking forward to seeing my teammates as much as if they were my own family members, I grabbed my present, a few bottles of finely aged mead, and Apparated to Connor's house on the day of the party.
His house was in the muggle suburbs outside London. There were evergreen hedges overpowering the walkway and roof shingles threatening to clonk partygoers swiftly on the noggin. As I approached, a gaggle of girls, two of whom I recognized as Connor's daughters from photographs, raced through the snow on the ground as they chased after a barking dog.
One of the little girls was waving a fake wand in the air until it turned into a rubber chicken.
I laughed as I recognized the Weasley Wizard Wheezes product.
A kind looking elderly woman with long white air and large rubber galoshes came wheezing after the girls, clutching her knees as they ran behind the house. She heaved for a bit before spotting me and ambling in my direction. "Hello, there, pet!"
"Hello!" I replied. "My name is Hayley. I'm here for the party?"
"Right, yes, of course," she said as she guided me along. "Connor's mentioned you at Sunday dinner, of course. I'm Agatha, his mum."
"It's very nice to meet you," I said as I fumbled with the bottles of mead so that I could shake her hand, which was covered by a knitted mitten.
"Merlin!" she exclaimed while relieving me of the bottles. "Here, I've got them. No! It's fine, love, really. You go out back and enjoy the party. That young Jack Copeland—what a sweet boy and quite the looker too, what I would give to be your age—is going to give us a bit of a light show soon. Thank goodness for concealment charms, eh? Otherwise, the Ministry would have all of our heads!"
I tried to thank her, but she shooed me past a gate and then disappeared into the house. I continued walking and grinned at the Happy 20th Anniversary banner that obviously looked like it had been fingerpainted by Connor's daughters.
The yard was crammed with a dozen or so round tables decorated with cream linen tablecloths and orchids. Despite the frigid temperature, the many party guests were mulling around without coats quite comfortably. The snow that layered the front of the house was conspicuously absent, and I was beginning to feel a bit warm.
A bloke with Connor's eyes but much grayer whisps of hair found me and took my coat.
"Heating charm?" I asked him.
"My wife did it. Have you had a chance to meet Agatha yet?"
I nodded. "Yes."
He nodded and then squinted down at me. "You're not one of my relatives, are you?" he whispered conspiratorially. "Don't mean to be rude; we've just got so many, see? Can't keep track in my old age. Hell, half the time I don't even know who I am."
"No, sir, I'm Hayley McCoy. I play Chaser with Connor."
"Oh, you're that little girl who's been all over the papers! Christ Almighty! McCoy, you say? So then you're Irish?"
I barely had time to nod before he pulled me by my neck into a hug.
"Wonderful!" he wheezed when he finally released me. "Always a pleasure to meet another Irishman. I'm Wesley, Connor's father. How 'bout I show you around? Introduce you to the relatives?"
"That would be great," I croaked while massaging my throat.
His wide grin beamed for a moment before he began to frown as he fingered the gray and white whiskers on his chin. "That is, assuming I remember all their names. Multiply like rabbits, the O'Reilly clan. Must be all the potatoes…"
Despite misgivings, Wesley was able to recall the names of an astonishingly large amount of relatives. Prying me away from any opportunity to latch onto a familiar Puddlemere face – even Fletcher, who was looking slightly fidgety without his usual clipboard, hat, and whistle – I was introduced to a plethora of great aunts, third cousins, and bogey-covered nephews and nieces. Most were harmless, if not very polite, except for cousin Persephone, who turned a deaf ear to my many protests and forced me to feel her very pregnant belly.
My aversion to pregnancy was not the result of a hatred of children; in fact, I fully planned on having kids one day. I adored Ayden's children, Hannah, Kate, and Billy.
However, it freaked me out to see women walking around and functioning with something growing inside of them. Pregnancy was a mystery that I did not want to unravel for a very long time. Besides, I could not play Quidditch with a stomach that big.
Finally, after the names and faces all started to blend into one another, I excused myself from Wesley's side and his many proclamations of, "Yes, she plays Quidditch, a wee little girl like her! But did you know? Irish!" on the pretense of getting a drink.
Once I had untethered myself, I really had no idea where to go, so, feeling a bit stifled anyway from the warmth of the heating charm, I walked over to where the drinks were held and grabbed a bottle of butterbeer.
Drink in hand, I turned to try to find Des when I nose-planted into a very thick torso.
A chuckle sounded, and I began to murmur apologies before I looked up to see into whom I had just barged. "Oh!"
"Hayley McCoy!"
"The Dominator," I breathed as I took in his large hands, massive, tree-trunk like thighs, and shoulders so wide I wondered how he fit through doorways.
"Yes, well," he said with a chuckle. "Most people just call me 'Dom.'"
His comment made me come to my senses. I held out my hand. "A real honor to meet you, sir."
His hand swallowed mine as his bright green eyes scrutinized me. "So you're my replacement, huh? Merlin, Fletch wasn't looking for brute force, eh? You're a bit puny, love."
I said nothing as he released my hand. All I could think about were the years I had spent watching the Dominator play Quidditch, and here he was, standing right there, insulting me.
Suddenly, I began to feel very defensive, but the emotion disappeared when his intimidating face morphed into a playful smirk.
"Relax, McCoy. I've seen you play. You're quite good. I was very impressed by that reverse pass you used against the Wimbourne Keeper. I've never liked Gretchings; he's such a prat. We were on Reserves together. Bloke kept trying to steal my girlfriend at the time. Course, now she's my wife, and he's missing his right eye. Come over here," he requested as he pointed out one of the vacated round tables, "and we'll talk some more."
Forty minutes later, I left the table with a dazed, goofy expression on my face. I was so blissfully unaware of my surroundings that I walked right past Des and Bryce without even noticing them – that is, until Bryce yelled my name about twenty centimeters away from my face.
"Oi, you berk, you'll make her go deaf – or blind!" Des reproached him with a whack on his back. "After being that close to your ugly mug."
"She looks funny," Bryce commented as he grabbed my chin and examined my face, ignoring the very dirty looks coming from Des and me.
"You know, you might actually have a point," Des agreed as she peered over for a closer look.
"Like she just had a nice shag funny," Bryce continued.
I ground my teeth together and swatted away his hand before taking a step back. "Oh, shut it. It's not what you think. I just finished a chat with the Dominator, and –"
"Tut, tut, Hayles. Such an older man? And he's married too! You vixen!"
"What'd Dom say?" asked Des, not bothering to acknowledge Bryce's comment.
"That I was 'very good.' No—wait! He said 'quite good.' But that's just words, right? Merlin, I can't believe I actually met the Dominator, and he liked me!"
It was a testament to our friendship that Des did not laugh; she did, however, seem to be swallowing very hard.
"Bloody hell, Miss Quidditch Sycophant, you're easy to please. Remind me to tell that to Jackwad—OW! SODDING HELL, WOMAN! Don't kick me THERE!"
"The Dominator asked about you!" I added cheerfully. "Said he wasn't surprised that you two were together."
"Yeah, cause there's no fighting Desiree's love for me," Bryce choked out weakly as he struggled to remain upright and still place an arm around Des's shoulder.
Des "harrumphed" but did not remove his arm.
"I think he was speaking more along the lines of 'it was either that or they'd murder each other.'"
"'Course," continued Bryce, not at all deterred by Des's lack of reciprocated affection, "Dom probably saw us during our worse times. You never really know what it's like to be miserable, Hayley, until you can't be with the person you're in love with." A pensive look came over his features, and Des actually looked over to make sure he was okay.
Bryce must have realized that he was behaving seriously for over twenty seconds because he slapped his face and then grinned wickedly. "What are we still over here for? Connor's the one payin' for all the food! I put an extension charm on my pants just for the occasion!"
I felt as though my denim skirt could have used a charm or two as I eyed the buffet table. There were dishes laden with savory sauces, honey roasted ham, pheasant, veal, chicken drumsticks, and lamb chops, as well as heaping trays of candied yams, buttered peas, roasted asparagus, and corn still on the cob. Beside the baskets of lovely rolls, buttered and still steaming a bit, I could see potatoes prepared in nearly every style: mashed, baked, double-cooked, chips, scalloped, and layered with cheese and broccoli.
Too eager to miss out on anything, I dolloped a bit of everything onto my plate, which was a considerable load to carry over to a table. Des and Bryce must have been thinking along the same lines because the contents of her plate were teetering dangerously close to spill over and Bryce had two plates.
Debating on what to sample first, I picked up my knife and fork, but before I could decide on anything, a few golden sparks shot up into the sky. I lowered my utensils as I looked around to see what was going on. On a raised platform on the patio, directly underneath the sloppily drawn banner, Connor was standing, glass in hand, with his wife, Morgan.
She was a very pretty woman with shoulder length terry brown hair, light eyes, and a wide smile. Beside her, Connor looked younger than I had ever seen him. The dark circles that always seemed to perpetuate under his eyes had all but vanished.
"Oh, bloody hell, a speech," Des muttered under her breath.
"Con Man won't care if I just nibble through it, do you reckon?" Bryce asked as he eyed his steaming plates of food. "C'mon' Con. Something short. Love you. Love you too. Let's eat."
Resignedly, I put my fork and knife down before turning to watch Connor.
"We'd like to thank everyone for coming," Connor said in his scratchy, low voice. "Haven't seen some of you since the nuptials. Couldn't resist the free grub, eh?"
The crowd of partygoers chuckled; Connor's wife gently nudged him with her hip.
"But, even though I'm thrilled to see you all gouging on our hospitality, nobody would be here today—hell I'd probably still be piling stock in Quality Quidditch Supplies—if it wasn't for this woman right here."
He turned to focus his gaze on his wife and with a shaky breath, he began again. "Morgan, you're everything. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, apart from our two daughters. You have made me—and continue to make me—a better man. You've put up with so much, the long nights, the early mornings," he paused to scan through the crowd, winking when he found Fletcher's face. "And I can only thank the universe for whatever magic it hoodwinked you with to make you stupid enough to marry me 'cause I'll never be so lucky for as long as I live."
There was a smattering of applause, and I watched as Morgan whispered something to him before she pulled him into a sweet kiss.
I stared in awe as I envied Connor's loving marriage and the ease with which he was able to speak about it.
Connor's dad lead the crowd into a toast, which I cheerfully took part in. There were a few more speeches and quite a bit more toasts until I could finally start eating; the steam was gone, but the food was thankfully still warm.
As we shoveled forkful upon forkful into our mouths, there was not much conversation, apart from Bryce's occasional crass comment.
Finally fed up with his teasing, Des slammed down her glass. "Stone, if you love me so damn much, why don't you just ask me to bloody marry you and be done with it?"
Bryce's smirk simmered. "Maybe I will," he replied coolly.
"Fine. Whatever."
After that, I felt a bit awkward sitting there with them, and I also ruddy had to use the loo. They blankly nodded when I excused myself and left the table.
As I clambered through the maze of occupied tables, I distinctly heard the unmistakable voice of Richard Cooke. I looked over to see him, dressed in dark blue as always, waving a fruity drink around.
"Now really, Oliver, son. When am I going to see you and my daughter tying the knot? The Dominator just asked me if he should be expecting an invitation any time soon. And you know, my Bridget would make a beautiful spring bride—"
I slammed the door to the house shut to avoid hearing anymore and frantically searched for a loo. After three failed attempts, I swung open the door to the loo, which was just beyond the sitting room.
I sank down onto the toilet and sat in such a state that even my very full bladder was stilled.
I stayed in the loo a few more minutes than necessary, paging through one of Connor's magazines about Herbology. When I opened the door to leave, I heard voices carrying from the sitting room.
"C'mon, don't be so cross. It's a party!"
"Bridge, your dad is out there more or less announcing our engagement right now!" a Scottish voice hissed back in reply.
Sucking in an air of breath, I hovered by the door and listened for the rest.
"He doesn't mean to be so tactless! You know Daddy!"
"Yeah, don't want to upset the boss or I'll get sacked."
Bridget must have also been astonished by his dark tone because I heard her gasp audibly. "Oliver!"
"Oh, er, Bridge. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."
"What's the matter? You've been like this since before Christmas."
"I reckon I just miss Quidditch."
"Quidditch? Oliver! It's just a ruddy game! Maybe Dad was right when he mentioned an engagement. We've been dating for over two years! You say your parents would object to us living together—not that they seem overly traditional. That's not the point. Oliver, I'm not saying we have to elope tomorrow, but are we ever going to move forward?"
"Bridget."
"Stop, Oliver! Every time I mention the future, you shut down. What's so wrong with the idea of us getting married? You do love me, don't you?"
I listened carefully for his response but only heard a loud thud and then the smacking of lips. Carefully, I tiptoed out of the corridor and past the sitting room.
Neither noticed me as I walked past them; they were far too busy.
Oliver's hands were braced against the peach colored walls, and Bridget's fingers were gripping his hair until they reached down to fist his shirt. There was no space between their bodies as their lips met fiercely.
Not wanting to watch them a second longer, I fled the house and ran as quickly as I could into the yard.
Scanning the patio, I found Bryce and Des sitting together, silently holding hands. Over by the buffet table, which had been cleared of dinner and was now supporting dozens of pies, tarts, and chocolates, Connor and his wife were eating a piece of cake together.
I ducked past Richard Cooke, who was heading towards me, and fished my jacket out of the large pile of coats. As I meandered through crowds of relatives, I spotted Jack, who was sitting alone at a table with a beer in hand.
He looked up at me and waved halfheartedly.
I returned the gesture and then journeyed to the front yard, from where I Disapparated home.
The flat was dark and empty when I arrived. Nora and Carter had left two days ago to go visit her extended family in Russia and share their engagement news and would not be back until the Tuesday of next week.
Using my wand to light my path, I trudged into the sitting room and collapsed onto the couch. My stomach gurgled, but I had already eaten all the baked goods Nora had made me before leaving.
I idly regretted not grabbing a few of cake off the dessert table at the party before I drifted off into an exhausted sleep.
On Sunday morning, I woke up to a still barren house and met Oliver at the park at our usual time. After stretching, we wordlessly began to run.
We ran longer than we had ever before. The whole time, I replayed memories of the past few months in my head, culminating in the affection between Connor and Morgan, Nora's jubilance at her engagement to Carter, the searing image of Bridget trapped between Oliver's arms and the wall as they kissed, the woeful look in Jack's eyes...
At around the tenth kilometer, something that Bryce Stone, the person I last expected to give me useful advice, said rang in my ears.
"You never really know what it's like to be miserable, Hayley, until you can't be with the person you're in love with."
I stopped suddenly. Oliver continued for a couple more paces until he realized I was not beside him, and he doubled back.
"Did you pull something?" he asked, panting slightly as he wiped perspiration off his forehead. "You should have stretched longer. It's the only way to prevent muscle tearing."
"What are we doing?" Despite the workout, my voice was steady.
"Running."
"No, Oliver. What are we doing?" I repeated emphatically.
This time he seemed to understand because he frowned deeply. "Hayley, don't. Just….don't."
Despite his request, words and questions came flying out of my mouth. "Why haven't we told anyone about our runs? If you're so concerned with the team's workout, why aren't they here too? What is this to you? What are we?"
He grabbed my forearm. "Hayley, you know I can't…Bridget…I…"
"That's right! Bridget! I overheard you at Connor's party," I said quickly, forgetting to be embarrassed about eavesdropping on their conversation. "How can you plan to marry her while you do this to me?"
"Hayley, I never—"
Worried that I might begin to cry if I heard him actually vocalize that he never meant for me to misinterpret his feelings about me, I did not give him a chance to say anything more because I flung my arm out of his grasp. "Save it," I spat. "This—whatever it was—is over."
And then I ran as fast as my feet could go.
He did not follow me.
I spent the rest of the day at my dad's, helping him man the bar and trying to coax him into eating less salt all the time.
The next day, training resumed, and I was more eager than ever to have the relief of Quidditch once more.
The day passed in long hours of arduous weight training, running drills, and discussing strategy. It appeared as though Fletcher had spent every one of our days off devising new plays.
"The first half of the season went well, but we can do better. I want us training longer, harder, and fiercer than ever before!"
By the time I left the showers, my aching limbs were hearing his words more than ever. Yet, I was not quite ready to go home and limp off to bed. Determined, I left the girls' locker room and waited on the grassy pitch until he arrived, fresh from his shower.
"Jack!" I called.
Jack tugged on his white cotton t-shirt, which was sticking to his still damp skin, and looked for the source of news. To say he was surprised to see that it was me was an understatement.
"Hayley!" he greeted me back in an astonished, but nonetheless, cheerful tone. "How are you?"
"Peachy," I answered quickly, bypassing over his never failing politeness.
"Great, I thought something might be up…we haven't talked in a while."
"I know, I'm really sorry, Jack. I'm such a prat. I've just been confused…"
No sooner had these words left my mouth than Oliver appeared out of the boys' locker room. I diverted my gaze away from where he was meeting up with Bridget and turned back to Jack.
"But I think I've figured things out now."
"Oh, really?" Jack said, still looking a tad befuddled. "Well, that's brilliant, then."
"Listen, I don't know if the offer is still good….but do you still want to go out for coffee sometime?"
Jack paused in surprise before a grin erupted onto his tanned face. "Yeah! Of course I still want to."
"Great," I answered back with a smile of my own. "There's just one slight problem, see, I don't actually like coffee."
"Oh, well, we can get anything you want! Hot chocolate, ice cream, a whole seven-course dinner if you're hungry enough."
"Sounds good."
"It's a date, then."
A/N: Another Friday, another chapter. Grassy face (Danica translation: "gracias," or simply, "thank you") to all of you for reading and reviewing thus far! Craziness that we've already come to chapter 7. Now, unfortunately for you readers but necessary for we writers, we will be taking a break between this chapter and chapter 8, until the first Friday in September. We're just anticipating being way busy once school starts. Even though there will be a break in posts, doesn't mean there'll be a break in writing, so we're treating this as a headstart for the rest of the chapters. This is all for want of enough time to produce a good story for you guys. And we saw this as the right point, plotwise, to take an intermission. Don't you fret; we'll be back. Molly says that you should all take this time to review with extra care and frequency because she is an attention-seeking slag with delusions of grandeur.
So, in the interest of shamelessly trying to get reviews: what's your favorite moment from the harry potter books? what did you do this summer? what's your favorite eighties movie? chunky or creamy?
That last one referred to peanut butter. If you were thinking something else, you've been reading too much smut.
Danica (and Molly)
