Jack glared over his shoulder in our direction.
Sasha tried to pinch me again since I still hadn’t answered, and I swatted her hand away. “Would you stop? I wasn’t with anyone. Jesus.”
“Don’t manhandle me, Calvin Winters,” Sasha said loud enough for the class to hear.
“I didn’t …”
Sasha rubbed her wrist, and that moment in my truck came rushing back. She was a tiny thing, but I hadn’t touched her any harder than I would’ve Cara.
I leaned closer, and her eyes lit up. “Stop,” I whispered. “I dunno if you’re acting like we’re together because you don’t want anyone to know we broke up, but stop touching me, okay?”
She didn’t acknowledge my words in any way, nor did she heed them.
I checked the messages during class, angling myself so Sasha couldn’t read my screen, but she sure as shit tried. Practically climbed onto my lap before the teacher called her out on it.
His message was from this morning. Our normal Wednesday check-in that I’d missed.
Princess
I like the movie Fear. Mark Wahlberg plays a stalker.
Stalkers. Right. Clearly, he wasn’t leaving me alone like I’d said in my last text to him, nor going to let me forget he caught me at his game.
Again with the stalker?
Obsession is a good look on you.
Jack checked his phone right after I hit Send, didn’t glance my way, just casually stuffed it back in his pocket.
I gave him an inch, and he gave me fucking indifference.
The rest of the day was shit. Trent had to leave school early for reasons, and our session, the guaranteed hour I could spend with Jack, was canceled. Sasha acted as if she were one ignored text away from pissing on my leg and marking her territory. Jack wouldn’t look at me. The end of football season was nearing, and we felt it in practice. Momma called to cancel ourfamilydinner that weekend, and Cara and I had to listen to Daddy bitching about her lack of consideration for anyone else’s schedule.
God, I was so over this week.
Then Friday came.
I hadn’t expected much more than the shit I’d been dished all week. So imagine my surprise when I ran off field during our away game and none other than Jack Rutledge sat in our stands. Our games, home or away, drew more fans in the bleachers than the soccer team ever would, but he sat off to the side, as if he wanted to make sure I saw him.
I waved.
I didn’t know why I did. I’d never done anything like that before. And when he gave me the finger in return, I grinned.
So we both were obsessed stalkers now. Good to know.
WhateverTrenthadgoingon last week was still an issue. I was pulled out of sixth period because he needed to reschedule the session to during school hours.
The stack of cutouts Cara had helped me complete was tucked under my arm when I walked into his office. An identical pile sat on Trent’s desk already. Jack waited in his usual chair with his usual glare burning through me, but when I glanced to his sneakers and back to his face, it relaxed a little. A very, very little.
This situation wasn’t normal. I didn’t know how to act or react to anything. There was no handbook and no rules to follow. Since that kiss, nothing had been easy or obvious.
I’d even texted him first this morning because why not? It was already awkward.
Quite the stalker yourself. Enjoy watching me Friday night?
He left me on read, which I probably deserved.
I took my seat next to Jack, hating and loving the heat fromhis body. Trent never asked what our mandatory text was about today, only bored us to death with bullshit team-player talk, building relationships through sports, then went into that stupid Athletic Leadership Camp we still had coming up. Fucking hell. That would be more torture, but in a way, I was excited for it too.
