The Assistant Coach (BOOK 1: OMEN KING SERIES)

|𝟺𝟷|

Kohl Warren

I snatch the warm toast from the toaster, not giving a damn about whose it is. The loud blare of the hockey game on TV drowns out any chance of having a coherent thought.

"Turn that down, you dipshit!" Owen's voice bellows from upstairs, causing Rocky to jump in surprise.

Rolling my eyes, I reach for the strawberry cream in the fridge, grabbing a butter knife as I do. Placing the cream on the counter, I stiffen when I feel a sudden slap on my backside.

A soft chuckle follows, "Warren, did you secretly get buttock surgery?" Tim's teasing voice fills the room.

"Is that my bagel?" Ant appears, scratching his head as he retrieves a small box from the corner drawer of the kitchen.

I nod at Ant's question, trying to keep my cool even though I can feel my annoyance bubbling up inside me. Ant doesn't seem fazed, though.

He just casually strolls around the counter and opens the balcony door with a nonchalant flick of his wrist before closing it behind him.

I can't help but wonder what Leia is up to right now. Is she even bothered by my ridiculous request? The thought pisses me off, even though I know I have no right to be mad. Damn it.

I pass the butter knife off to Tim with a heavy sigh. "I'm not hungry anymore," I mutter, not even bothering to hide my irritation. Tim just smiles and pushes past me to grab the bagel.

Hungry asshole.

I don't bother grabbing a shirt as I head out to the balcony, shoving my hands in my pockets as I take a seat next to Ant. The cold air hits me, I glance over at Ant, his expression unreadable.

"You want?" Ant asks, his hand outstretched with the joint dangling between his fingers.

I give a nonchalant shrug as I reach out with a single hand to take it from him. The joint feels warm against my cold fingers as I bring it to my lips.

I realize I have no practice tomorrow, so I close my eyes and take a slow, deliberate inhale of the joint. The smoke fills my lungs, and as I exhale, a gust of wind blows it away, dissipating into the air.

Ant absentmindedly plays with a woman's pink scrunchie, twisting it around his fingers.

I raise an eyebrow. "What's up with you lately?" I ask, taking another drag from the joint, the sun casting a warm glow on his face.

He continues to fiddle with the scrunchie, making various shapes with it. "You've been distant lately,"

I observe, blowing another puff of smoke. "And you seem

to be smoking more."

"Are you keeping tabs on me now Kohl?" Ant replies, his tone as cold as always. "Is this your way of confessing your undying love for me?" he smirks.

Ant's once bright chestnut hair now looks dull, almost as if it has lost its shine along with his usual sarcastic demeanor.

The bags under his tired rural green eyes are darker than usual, a clear sign of the sleepless nights he's been having.

His shirtless appearance reveals a scar on his right arm, a reminder of the past.

And those orange shorts he's wearing, well, let's just say they are so bright they could blind anyone who looks at them.

They are clearly Tim's.

"Ant Kashida, make me the happiest man in this cruel world and tell me what's bothering you," I say as I hand him the joint.