Page 46 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter

“Didn’t think you’d be friends with a girl with so much mean-girl energy,” Penn says in my ear.

I almost jump out of my skin. I didn’t hear him approach. And he drifts to the side, sitting at his cubby.

“The tape wasn’t funny, Andi,” Oliver says suddenly. “You left her in bruises. I thought you were more clever than that.”

Andi’s mouth drops open. “I?—”

“For the record, I’m against all of this,” I interject.

Andi scoffs. “Right.”

“I don’t want to be part of this,” I repeat.

I back up, but Penn catches me. He moved again. The fucker is silent, but his hands on my upper arms stop my movement.

Ice floods through me.

“Whose cock do you think she’d enjoy more, Scarlett?”

Is he asking because she’s already?—

“Save some of that anger for the fuck,” Penn whispers to me.

A flush creeps up Scarlett’s neck. And probably colors her cheeks, too, but she’s so made up it’s hard to tell. “I don’t care. She’ll choke either way.”

“Unlike her.” Penn continues to narrate softly, the words just for me. “She swallowed him down like a good little slut.”

I wrench to the side, but he holds fast. He drags me back against him, and his erection digs into my ass. Oliver and Andi are still talking, seemingly trying to elicit an answer from my ex-best friend.

“Personally? I like a bit of crying with my face fucking.” He licks at the shell of my ear. “And gagging. And choking.”

I exhale.

“I’ll pick,” I finally voice. “As soon as they get the fuck out.”

Oliver’s eyes widen. I get the impression that not much surprises him, but that did. And then his expression is gone, wiped clean and replaced with smugness. “You’re too late. Scarlett picked for you.”

I narrow my eyes.

Andi moves fast, suddenly dragging Scarlett out past me. I want to yell at her, but Penn might actually be right. I need to hold on to my anger.

I shake Penn loose immediately after the door closes behind him, and I raise my eyebrows.

“Well?”

Oliver sneers. “Your lucky day, doll. You get Penn.”

The hairs on the back of my neck rise.

“And we’re on a countdown,” he adds, checking his watch. “Team’s arriving in fifteen.”

Penn tilts his head. “We could move this to the offices.”

Oliver’s eyes light, and he nods once. Penn crowds behind me, moving me simply by getting too close. I follow Oliver’s quick steps out of the locker room and into an elevator. We arrive on the suite floor—but there are offices here, too. Most are locked, except one.

Marked with my father’s name.

“He probably just left,” Penn says to me. “And hopefully he doesn’t come back. Wouldn’t that be awkward?”