I get right up in his face, close enough to see the peach fuzz on his cheeks. He’s lit. I can see it in his eyes, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stand here and let him disrespect Kennedy. “I suggest you shut your fucking mouth and take a walk.”
“Or what?”
Silence falls over the room, and even though I’d like nothing more than to knock the smirk off his face with my fist, it’s not an option. Not today, anyway. That shit would get me benched for sure.
I crack my knuckles and turn to McCoy, anger pulsing through my veins like molten steel. “Get your boy out of here before I throw him out.”
McCoy gives his buddy a shove. “Let’s go.”
The asshole takes a few steps toward the door, then turns back to me. “Must be some good pussy to get your hackles up like that. Tell me, Reid. Does she give all the guys a taste or just you?”
White light explodes behind my eyes and I lunge forward, prepared to beat an apology from his dumb ass. He stumbles backward, just out of reach, and a pair of strong arms lock around my waist, holding me back.
“He’s not worth it!” Smith yells. “He’s not worth our season, man! He ain’t shit.”
The stupid fucker actually steps forward and tries to take a swing at me before McCoy grabs his collar and jerks him back.
“All right! Break it up!”
When I look up, campus police stands in the foyer, surveying the scene.
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Could this day get any worse?
All the fight leaves my body, and Smith relaxes his grip. I straighten my shirt, praying the cop doesn’t ask for IDs. “Can I help you, sir?”
“We had a noise complaint,” he says, resting his hands on his belt as he surveys the scene. “But it looks like you’ve already taken care of the music, so I’m going to let you off with a warning. We get another call, I’m going to need names and IDs. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” McCoy and I say in unison. Rivalry or not, neither of us can afford to see our guys facing charges.
The cop looks me over. “Good game against Ohio, son. Best damn game I’ve seen in ages.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He wishes us luck against Wisconsin, and the baseball players follow him out when he leaves. Kendall brings up the rear, sauntering out the door with Johnson’s eyes glued to her ass.
I heave a massive sigh of relief. That was too fucking close.
The door slams and I do a quick head count, verifying all the recruits are present. Then I turn to Johnson.
“What the hell were you thinking?” It’s a rhetorical question, but his half-assed shrug has me seeing red, fury making my chest heave like I’ve just run the forty-yard dash. “You want to be captain next year? Being captain isn’t about being everyone’s drinking buddy. It’s about being a leader and setting a good fucking example!”
This time, he at least has the decency to look chagrined.
Coach’ll cut off my nuts if word of this gets out. This is the kind of shit that ruins reputations and gets teams put on probation. This is not what Waverly football is about, and it’s sure as shit not how we recruit. I can’t believe Johnson could be this irresponsible, but I’m even more pissed at myself for not realizing it ahead of time. These kids are my responsibility. I’ve let them down, even if they’re too fucked up to realize it at the moment.
“Dude,chillllax. We’re just having a littlefuuun,” says one of the recruits, slurring his words. I narrow my eyes at him. Hawkins, from Maryland. The kid may be quick on his feet, but I’m not in the mood for excuses. Especially not from a shit-faced high school punk who can barely string two words together. “No harm,noooofoul.”
I’m about to unleash some next level heat on the kid when Tate, one of Johnson’s roommates, wanders down the stairs with his girlfriend close on his heels.
“You were part of this too?” I ask, unable to believe Tate could be this stupid.
He steals a glance at the kid hugging the trash can and holds up his palms. “Hey, man. I thought it was just going to be a few beers.”
“Just a few beers?” My voice comes low and calm despite the anger roiling in my gut. This is exactly the kind of juvenile bullshit that gives football players a bad rep. “We aren’t going to win a national title drinking and partying like a bunch of overindulgent assholes. It’s going to take discipline. Respect for the team. Respect for each other,” I say, glaring at Johnson, Smith, and Tate in turn. The hypocrisy of my words isn’t lost on me—I am, after all, sneaking around with Carter—but I’m too pissed to think clearly at the moment. I glare at a few of the recruits for good measure. Most drop their eyes. “There’s some real talent in this recruiting class, but if this is how you conduct yourselves, well, I guess it won’t much matter if we win the championship or not because you won’t stand a chance in hell of defending it.”
I turn back to Tate, the only sober one of the group. “Get your keys and help me get these guys back to the hotel.” I pause, sweeping the room with my gaze. “The puker rides with you.”
