The Professor’s Date (The Script Club #5) Read Online Lane Hayes

Categories Genre: M-M Romance, Romance Tags Authors: Series: The Script Club Series by Lane Hayes
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Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
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Mom ran a soothing hand through my hair. “What’s wrong, Tommy?”

“Is it your friend?” Dad asked.

I swiped my hand through my hair and nodded. “He dumped me.”

“Oh, honey. I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

“For what it’s worth, we liked him,” Dad replied awkwardly. “He’s got a lot of spunk.”

“Does he know how you feel about him?” Mom asked gently.

I sighed. “I thought so, but…maybe I didn’t communicate it very well.”

Dad squeezed my shoulder. “You have good instincts for people. You wouldn’t have brought him to the shower unless you thought he was special.”

“He is.”

“Then make sure you’re heard.” Mom wrapped me in another monster hug and I let her. “Try again, honey.”

And when my tough-guy resolve melted, I squeezed her tight and acknowledged that while my family wasn’t perfect, we tried. I was a lucky man.

Try again.

How? I’d said I wouldn’t give up, but I really didn’t know what to do. However, my recent small wins made me feel, dare I say it—brave. Brave enough, or crazy enough to try something completely outlandish.

“You wanna learn how to play soccer?” Ezra set his hands on his hips.

“Yes.”

“In one day.”

“That’s correct. I joined an LGBTQ team, and my first practice is tomorrow.” I fiddled with the tape on my glasses, then pointed at my newly purchased ball. “As you can see, I’m ready and willing to learn…Coach.”

“I’m no coach and I haven’t played soccer since I was thirteen. But okay, I’ll help.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s not tough. The goal is to kick the ball down the field and into the net. But since you’re just starting out, you should get used to handling the ball. And remember, you can’t touch the ball with your hands, dude. Only your feet.”

I set the ball on the kitchen floor. “Got it.”

“And you can’t wear those shoes.” Ezra pointed at my loafers. “You need cleats.”

“Cleats,” I repeated, typing notes on my cell. “Got it.”

Ezra shook his head mournfully. “Come on. Let’s go outside and see what you got.”

I didn’t have much.

But that was okay. I didn’t really want to learn how to play soccer. I just needed an excuse to see Noah…and plead my case again.

I was afraid to call or text. I didn’t know what to say. “Give me another chance” might work, but it might not and if it didn’t, I wouldn’t get another shot.

So, with Ezra’s help, I purchased cleats and showed up at the field early to introduce myself to Coach Kevin and sign a dozen health and safety forms.

I handed the clipboard to him and surveyed the empty expanse of lawn.

“When does your practice commence?” I lifted my arms above my head in what I thought might be a stretching exercise.

“In twenty minutes. The rest of the guys are trickling in. In the meantime, I’ll get you set up with that crew. They’re our elite squad.” Coach gestured toward the two men passing a ball at the opposite end of the field. “Jeff, Rick, and…”

I turned on cue and—

“Noah,” I whispered in an awestruck, gravelly voice I barely recognized.

“Yeah, you know him?” Coach asked distractedly as he pulled a soccer ball from his bag.

I nodded. It was the best I could do with my heart lodged in my throat.

I fully acknowledged that this was a convoluted idea, but I’d convinced myself it had a genius component as well. He wouldn’t expect me, and that alone would give me an advantage. However, I was woefully unprepared.

He looked powerful, commanding, confident, and so very…beautiful. The kind of graceful, athletic beauty that used to intimidate the heck out of me. But this was Noah.

My Noah.

I licked my lips nervously, vaguely aware of more players joining, calling familiar greetings. I tuned them out to listen to Coach Kevin singing Noah’s praises. Something about his speed, agility, and a killer instinct—things that would have sent me running in the opposite direction a few months ago. Now, I wanted his every detail.

“Wish me luck,” I mumbled, snatching the ball from Coach’s hand.

I ran for the net thingy at the end of the field with the ball tucked under my arm until I remembered I was supposed to be kicking it. I dropped it on the grass and gave it a gentle tap that did nothing but mess with my momentum. I tried again and overdid it. The ball catapulted toward Noah and his teammates. I raced after it in a wild attempt to catch up to before it reached them, pumping my arms and high stepping with a head full of steam.

Got it!

I stopped forward progress with my right foot a few yards from the net and nearly collapsed with the effort. I doubled over, resting my hands on my thighs for a moment. I straightened slowly and smiled wanly at the three men staring at me.

Noah stepped forward, his mouth open in a wide O. “Thomas?”


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