Fuck you.
Not in this fucking life.
“What did you say to each other?” Trent asked.
I lifted my phone and waved it. “He said, ‘Hey, it’s Cal,’”
“Did Jack respond, Cal?”
Cal stared at his phone as hesupposedlyread my message from his screen. “‘Hey, Cal, it’s Jack. I’m glad we’re doing this, and I hope we can be friends.’ Oh, and he mistyped friends.” Cal scrunched his nose in my direction, and with a friendly tone I’d never have imagined him having, he said, “Don’t feel bad. A lot of people typo that word.”
This prick. And I couldn’t even deny it because then we’d both get busted for lying.
God, I fucking hated Cal Winters!
When the hour was over, Cal jumped out of his chair and rushed from the room. I followed at a more leisurely pace,hoping he’d be finished changing for football practice and out on the field by the time I got to the parking lot.
He wasn’t.
He wasn’t in the locker room either.
I rounded a row of cars and came face-to-face with a bare-chested Cal. Wearing grass-stained practice pants, he had just straightened from grabbing something off the ground before throwing it into his truck. The blond, spiky tips of his bangs were in his eyes, and he flicked his head to move them as we stared.
Without trying to be obvious about it—not sure how much of that I pulled off—I checked out the intricate tattoo covering the left side of his chest. A treasure map of some sort, but I didn’t have time to study it before every muscle flexed and the design was covered by the sleeveless shirt he pulled over his head.
“Want a picture?” he sneered. “I might be convinced to sign it for you.”
I rolled my eyes and walked past but stopped at his tailgate. “You know, before school started, someone told me what a nice guy you were. How long did it take you to fool everyone?” I didn’t glance at him but waited in case he answered.
He mumbled something I couldn’t understand.
I half turned to find him staring at the ground, his back to me. Cal’s tanned triceps were nice and defined. Too bad he’d already covered everything else. Without another word, he slammed his door closed, hefted pads over one shoulder, and walked away.
This would never work between us. The faculty was kidding themselves. A massive obstruction sat between us, and we kept throwing ourselves against it, fortifying the stupid thing instead of tearing it down.
Counseling? Joint projects? More like gasoline.
The question now was, which one of us would drop a lit match first.
“Whendidyoutwomeet?”
“Summer,” I said. Jack had been quiet the entire time. Maybe he was pissed at our text exchange this morning.
“You square off during summer camps?”
I glared at Trent across his desk. There was no way I was incriminating myself or half the guys in school by admitting that. We’d all said some shit that hadn’t helped the brewing contention.
“Open up, or I can’t help.”
Hard pass.
“All right.” Trent shrugged. “How’d you feel about the session on Monday?”
I glanced at Jack to see if he’d chime in with something, but no, he shrugged.
“Waste of time,” I said.
Trent huffed. “What did he text you today?”
