Heading to the cafeteria, I thought about lunch. I needed carbs and energy. Possibly an energy drink. And coffee. Maybe a burger. With fries. No, was that too heavy? But if I had a food coma happening in the afternoon, I could snooze through Leitch. No, that would never happen.
As I debated my food choices, I really should have paid more attention. A sudden whack to my head knocked me flying. My cry of alarm and my arms flailing like a windmill would have been comical if I hadn’t just landed on my ass.
“Ow! Sonofabitch!” Rubbing my head, I sat up as I realized my book bag was spilled all over the grass too.
“You okay?”
I looked up into familiar light blue eyes and a handsome face, only this time it wasn’t the Devil that I was used to. Gray Santo? Seriously? Was someone just fucking bored up above andtryingto make me miserable?
“You hit me?” Shaking my head to clear it from the thumping, I refused his outstretched hand as I stood.
“Nah, not me, him,” Gray said as he jerked his thumb over his shoulder.
I half expected Jett, but it was the backup QB, and he was currently heading my way. “His aim’s shit,” I snapped as I rubbed my head again, not too sore. The ache would fade quickly.
“Yeah, we were trying a new play.”
“Try your new plays and routes in the stadium,” I growled as I bent down to pick up my belongings and put them back in my bag.
“Hey, you okay?” The backup quarterback had arrived. I knew him. I knew the whole team on paper, but I wasn’t in the mood to be nice.
“No, jackass. Be more careful.” With a glare, I stomped angrily away from them. Twice in one day, I had been the source of attention from a Santo brother.
“Yo, chick?”
I stopped dead and turned back to Gray, who was holding something out to me. “Chick?” I asked him incredulously. “Do I look like poultry?”
“Whatever, you dropped this.” He tossed it to me with casual indifference and had turned away before I had clumsily caught it, realizing it was my wallet.
“Thanks,” I called out after him, his back broad and straight as he walked away. He flicked his middle finger up at me, and despite myself, I grinned. That was how I expected a Santo to behave. Complete indifference to the lesser minions.
Maybe the knock on my head was my world shifting back onto its rightful axis.
“So, is it just any man that you’re rude to, or do you reserve your aggression just for us Santos?”
Fuck my life. I turned and met his cool, sardonic stare with trepidation. “Hi.”
Jett didn’t smile.
“You saw?”
“Hard to miss.”
“Apparently not for your backup,” I muttered as I rubbed my head again in remembrance. He said nothing.Okay then. “So, earlier,” I started and then faltered. His eyes were glacial, and I felt nervous. “I was rude.”
“You were.”
“Okay, well, thanks for that, anyway . . .” My sarcasm was hard to rein in, but I had to try. “Anyway, I should have said thank you. Properly.”
“Properly? So now you want to give me a blow job?”
“What?” My eyes were wide as I met his cool look. “What iswrongwith you?”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“You!” We stared at each other for a long moment. I in incredulity, he with apathy. This was getting me nowhere. “I just want to say thanks, it’s fixed. I appreciate your help.” I waited, and when he gave no response, I was content to tell myself I’d tried my best. “Now we’re even.”
“Fine.”
