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“Thanks for helping me out, Grant,” I say, letting the book settle in the bottom of my bag. “Mr. Young kind of put the fear of God in me…”
“Don’t sweat it. The guy’s a cuddly puppy on the inside. Just stick to the classic, romantic monologues — he likes those. And don’t blubber during the emotional scenes. It’s too Streep — he hates that.”
I nod. “I can handle that.”
He throws his arm around my shoulders. “I know you can — because you have to. I’ve been waiting two years for a halfway decent ingenue to stroll through here, Eliza…”
“So I’m halfway decent?” I laugh.
“You’re more than decent. You’re Bergman to my Bogart, honey. You and I are going to blow Young’s frail, old mind at the audition on Friday.”
I grin, completely seduced by his pep-talk. “Yeah. You’re right!”
“I’m always right.” He releases my shoulders. “I need to get to class. I’ll meet you back here tonight and then on Friday — we shine!”
I wave him goodbye and he spins around towards the auditorium.
* * *
This place is a damn labyrinth.
I’ve only been in the athletic center once or twice before. Now, I wish I’d asked for dad to meet me outside. I’m pretty sure I’ve passed that janitor’s closet three times now.
I round a corner and spot a familiar face in the form of Bob, the assistant coach.
“Hey, Bob,” I greet.
His wrinkled eyes barely glance up from his clipboard. “Hey, darling,” he says. Bob’s only known me a few weeks but since day one, he’s always called me darling. I’d take offense but he’s such a lovable, old man. I find it difficult to feel upset about it.
“Have you seen my father?” I ask. “I’m meeting him here for lunch.”
“In the locker room, last I saw him,” he murmurs, pointing over his shoulder with his pen.
I think to walk inside but then I pause, reading the MEN’S sign on the door.
“Go on in,” Bob adds, reading my mind. “The team’s cleared out already. Check the office in the back.”
“Thanks, Bob.”
“If not, just keep your eyes on the floor,” he chuckles softly, grunting like the dirty, old man he secretly is.
I smile and push the door open, instantly struck in the face with hot steam from recently-run showers.
“Dad?” I call, my voice echoing throughout the room. It’s dead silent, save the occasional tap of a dripping shower head and the sound of my boots thumping beneath me. “Mr. Car-y P-ier-ce?” I say, adding a vibrato and listening to it echo back at me.
I walk towards the office in the back, performing quick head tilts around corners as the rows of lockers pass me by.
A white towel comes into view, tossed around the naked hips of a man standing before the last row of lockers.
“Oh—!”I halt, nearly slipping on the moist floor. My eyes crash down, just like Bob told me to, and I keep them there. “Sorry, I was told the team was gone and—”
“It’s okay, Ellie.”
His chuckle fires down my spine.
I look up to see Junior Morgan standing there in nothing but a damp, white towel. His skin is wet with little rivulets of water still tumbling down to his toes. I press my lips together, my eyes instantly drawn to the tattoos staining his white skin, along with the muscles pushing out beneath them.
Whoa.
