Fuck me, was I—crushing on Jack Rutledge?
I had my phone in hand, firing off a text before I’d made the decision to do so, needing answers. The only way I could think of to get them was by hitting that drug again.
Rude. Aren’t you dying to get in your New Cal Fact quota for the day? Good boys like you always do as they’re told.
Yes. Okay, yes. Desperate. Needy. Hollow.
The message said delivered. Jack hadn’t glanced at me or his phone.Motherfucker.
But I had my answer.
The first step was admitting it, owning it.
I was a Jackaddict. There. Done.
What now? Hell if I knew.
“Earth to Cal,” Nick said beside me and nudged my shoulder. “My dude, you are a thousand miles away tonight.”
I huffed and nodded. “Yeah, suppose so.”
“You think Jack’s gonna start shit?” Michael asked. Jamie and Asher were in our little huddle of teammates, and they came to attention when he spoke.
“Why do y’all hate each other?” Asher asked.
“Fuck if I know,” I said honestly.
“That’s a great reason,” Jamie said.
“It started back in the summer,” Michael said. “The soccer team had to use our field for camp.”
“Oh.” Jamie rolled his eyes. “I get it. You guys didn’t piss on your territory enough before someone else did?”
Asher snorted, and Michael growled, “Careful, or I’ll piss on you.”
Jamie didn’t miss a beat. He may have been smaller, but I’d swear he was the only one brave enough to face off with Michael. “You’d better be careful. I might like that sort of thing.”
The guys burst out laughing, all except Michael, who snarled at his grinning stepbrother.
When the laughter had died down, I said, “No, to answer your question. I don’t think Jack’s gonna start shit. We’re already in too much trouble.”
Nick slapped the back of my head. “Then stop staring him down, or he’ll thinkyouare gonna start the shit this time.”
“You think we’ll be ready for Cooper Prep next week?” Raul asked, and thank fuck the conversation moved off me and back on to football.
Time dragged. Jack didn’t reach for his phone, probably knowing a text from me waited for him. He brooded as I salivated. He focused on the group around him as I spun out of control. He sipped a bottle of something, and every time he tilted it to his mouth, I swallowed.
The yellow glow of the bonfire danced over him, darkening the shadows here and there. With the dropping temps, long sleeves covered his arms, but I imagined them all the same. Jack was well-built, more muscular than I would’ve pegged soccer players. Really, he and Ty were more muscular than half the football team.
Like many athletes our age, we’d lost the baby fat because of all the working out, but the angles in his face were different frommine. I had more of a squared jawline where his was sharp. His dark brows slashed over his eyes and straight nose. His neck wasn’t thick but not skinny. It fit, I supposed.
Attractive.
A low punch caught me in the gut as the word bounced between my ears.
Jack Rutledge was attractive.
And not in the appreciate-the-hard-work-he’d-put-into-his-body sort of way. Well, not only.
