I yanked open my locker and peeled off my jersey.
“Hey, Carter.” Vargas’s voice rang out from across the room, smug and sunny, like he hadn’t spent the last twenty minutes outside charming the only person I’d ever really let in. “You planning to run through me next time, or was that just foreplay?”
A couple of the guys laughed. I didn’t.
“Maybe keep your head up next time,” I muttered, shoving my cleats into the bottom of my locker.
“Maybe stop playing like you’ve got something to prove,” Vargas shot back.
I turned and met his eyes. “Maybe stop hanging out with kids who still have a bedtime.”
He grinned, towel slung over his shoulder, not even phased. “Tru’s not a kid. He’s the same age as us. You should know, isn’t he your brother or something?”
And just like that, my blood boiled.
“What the hell do you even talk about?” I said, louder than I meant to. “Art? Eyeliner? Favorite fonts?”
“Dude.” Matt, two lockers down, side-eyed me. “Chill.”
Vargas’s expression didn’t falter. That smirk of his just got sharper. “We talk about real shit. Stuff you probably wouldn’t get.”
“Oh, I get it,” I sneered. “I get exactly what you’re after.”
He stepped closer, voice dangerously low. “You really wanna go there?”
I stared at him, jaw tight, fists clenched. I didn’t want to fight him. Not really. I wanted to wipe that look off his face. The one that said he knew something I didn’t. The one that said he mattered.
That hemattered to Tru.
I could feel eyes on us. My teammates were curious, waiting for a show. I backed down, bit my tongue, and sat down hard on the bench like it was my choice and I was too cool to care.
Vargas scoffed and turned away, whistling as he unzipped his gym bag because he’d already won something I didn’t even know how to fight for.
I bent over, lacing my sneakers with shaking fingers, and whispered,fuck youinto the metal of my locker.
Because I couldn’t say it to Tru.
Because I wouldn’t say it to myself.
Headlights flashed across my bedroom walls just after eleven.
I was sprawled on my bed, damp from the shower, earbuds in, pretending the bass line vibrating through my skull could drown out the rest of my thoughts. Too bad it couldn’t.
I sat up and moved to the window without thinking.
Tru.
The light from the dashboard barely illuminated his face, just enough for me to catch the smirk on Vargas’s face, one armdraped casually over the steering wheel like a playboy. Tru’s Playboy.
I couldn’t hear a damn word they spoke, but I didn’t need to. Vargas leaned across the seat, and Tru didn’t move. Then Vargas grabbed him, fisted the front of his shirt, and hauled him into a kiss.
No.
My hand hit the window glass. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a full-body press, desperate and greedy. Vargas climbed across the console like he couldn’t get enough, and Tru didn’t fight it. Not at first.
My vision tunneled. Heat pounded behind my eyes. I couldn’t look away.
Had he done this before? Had heletsomeone do that to him before? Had hewantedit?
