11. Everett

Everett (Dandelions by Ruth B.)

It's been four days, and I still find it hard to believe Amelia Hart actually lives here now.

Like, she leaves here every morning, comes back here in the afternoon, eats here, argues with me and the boys here, and then goes to sleep just a door away from mine.

Here.

Every damn day.

It still feels surreal. I can't help the smile tugging at my lips as I lace up my training shoes and head out of my room.

It's exactly 5:39 a.m. when I stop in front of her door and knock.

As usual, there's no response.

I've come to realize that Amelia likes sleep. Scratch that, she loves sleep. So much that she practically detests anyone who dares disrupt it.

Unfortunately for her, oversleeping is no longer a luxury she has access to.

I knock a couple more times. Nothing.

"I'm coming in," I mutter.

For some reason, she doesn't lock her door when she goes to bed. I assume it has something to do with her complete lack of responsiveness every morning.

I push the door open and step inside. My eyes wander straight to her vanity, and a smile creeps onto my face. Her creams, perfumes, hair products... all of it scattered across the surface.

The desk by the window fits right in too, like it's always been hers. She has no idea that it has.

The room smells like her as well, a soft mix of vanilla and coconut that hits me the moment I step farther inside.

It's dimly lit, and there she is.

My Hart.

Sleeping close to the edge of the bed. Not peacefully, though. Only God knows what she's chewing in her sleep.

A scoff escapes me.

I crouch beside the bed, hovering over her small frame as I take in her sleeping face. Her hair is a complete mess, a few strands falling across her forehead. Her lips are slightly parted, and her brows are drawn together like she's arguing with someone in her dreams.

Even like this, she's beautiful.

My Heart...

I know she isn't mine... yet. But a win is a win, right?

Besides, we're getting there.

Who would've thought that within the space of a week, we'd be here right now?

I reach out and gently push the fallen strands away from her face with my index finger. And for a moment, I just stare.

Then I force the smile off my face and straighten.

"Hart. Get up. It's time to jog."

And just as expected, there's no response.

Nice.

My eyes fall to the bell in my hand. I got it last year for Cole. That idiot was always a pain to wake up for early-morning trainings. Thankfully, I still have it.

And now, it has a successor.

I smirk. Slowly, I bring the bell right beside Hart's ear and ring it hard.

She shoots upright.

"Wha... what... whattt?"

Her eyes dart around the room in panic before finally landing on me.

I bite back a laugh.

"Jog. Now. You have ten minutes."

She's too stunned to speak. Smirking, I turn and walk out, pulling the door shut behind me.

A second later, a loud roar followed by a string of curses erupts from inside her room.

She's pissed.

I chuckle all the way downstairs.

About fifteen minutes later, Hart finally emerges from the staircase. She's wearing a loose black T-shirt, fitted shorts, and running shoes, her hair pulled into a messy bun that looks like she did it with her eyes closed.

At around six, we head out.

Today is the third day of this routine, and Hart has been whining about everything. The squats, the jumping jacks, all of it. And she's doing exactly that right now, panting hard as we make our way down the road. It's our third lap, and judging by the look on her face, you'd think I asked her to run a marathon.

"I have no idea..." She bends forward, trying to catch her breath. "Why we're running. I said teach me volleyball, not how to sprint. Are you trying to kill me?"

I stop a few steps ahead and turn around, fighting the smile threatening to spread across my face.

"If three laps are killing you, Hart, we have a much bigger problem."

She glares at me from between her arms. "You're enjoying this, right?"

I shrug.

"Evil man," she sneers.

I start jogging again, and after a moment, I hear her shoes slap against the pavement as she hurries after me.

"You know, Coach, there are nicer ways to motivate people."

"I'm not going to motivate you."

"Then what are you going to do?"

I glance at her. "Prepare you. Like I'm doing right now."

She goes quiet. "This is for volleyball?"

What else, silly girl?

"For volleyball."

She groans dramatically, and I laugh under my breath.

"Double up, Hart."

***

By noon, we're on campus and heading our separate ways.

"Meet me on the court at four," I announce.

Hart stops dead in her tracks and turns to face me, beaming. "Are you serious?"

I nod, smiling.

"Yes!" she squeals, then hops off.

Funny girl.

I watch her disappear into the crowd, my smile still plastered across my face.

If we're going to get her ready for the championship, we have to move fast. And judging by how excited she is about her first real training session, something tells me this is going to be interesting.

The day drags by slowly, and by 3:30, I'm already packing up and heading for the volleyball court.

At exactly four, Hart shows up. The moment she's close enough, I throw the ball at her. To my surprise, she catches it, even though I took her completely by surprise.

"In love with my quick reflexes, huh?" She flashes me that ridiculous smile of hers.

I'm more in love with you, Hart.

"That was good."

Her face lights up immediately. "Really?"

I nod, tossing the ball back to her. "Again."

She catches it and grins. "You know, you could compliment me more. It won't kill you."

"Don't push your luck, Hart."

She rolls her eyes and gets into position, tossing the ball at me. Her tongue pokes slightly against her cheek as she concentrates.

Cute. Serious Hart.

"Over the net," I tell her.

She catches it, swings, and the ball goes up.

She misses.

"Again."

She tries a second time.

Misses again.

I sigh. "Hart."

"What?"

"You have to actually hit the ball."

She glares at me. "I know that."

"Then why are you hitting the air?"

"The ball moved."

I blink. "The ball moved?"

"Yes." She points accusingly at it. "It clearly has something against me."

I stare at her for a second, then shake my head. "The ball isn't against you. You're just terrible."

Her mouth falls open. "Excuse me?"

"Again."

She mutters something under her breath and gets back into position.

This time, she jumps.

And hits it. Perfectly.

The ball flies over the net and lands exactly where it should.

Her eyes widen.

Mine do too.

Then she turns to me with the biggest smile I've seen all day.

"Did you see that?"

I can't help smiling. "Yeah, Hart. I saw it."

And damn it, she looks ridiculously happy.

"Again."

She frowns. Misses this time around.

Silently, I move behind her, gently adjusting her arms and shifting her feet into place. "Like this. Keep your eyes on the ball."

"I'm trying."

"And you're doing just fine."

She goes quiet.

I don't know if it's because of what I said or because my hands are still resting lightly on her waist, but neither of us moves.

Then she clears her throat. "Can I try again now?"

I step back, forcing myself to focus. "Go."

She hits it again. Clean this time. The ball sails over the net and lands exactly where I wanted it.

Her mouth falls open before a delighted squeal escapes her. "I DID IT AGAIN!"

She turns and throws her arms around me without thinking.

I freeze.

Her arms are around my neck, and for a moment, I completely forget we're supposed to be training.

Then she pulls away, her cheeks turning pink.

"I did it."

I look at her. "Yeah."

And a smile pulls at my mouth. "You did."

Somehow, watching her this happy feels better than winning any game ever could.

Two rules down. She never asked about the third.

Smart girl.

Because rule three... I'm not sure I'm ready to say out loud either.