Asha's gaze swings back from the field, stopping on me, her eyes searing into mine with something I can't place before dropping to my hand where my school-issued phone is still clutched tightly in my hand. She knows.That look has to mean she knows, right?
She doesn't spare me another look before giving her attention to Layoni. "Sure. That would be great. We can start now," she says, turning on her heel toward the field and walking away without another word.
Hollis starts heading toward the stables before I can wrap my head around what just happened. "What the hell was that about?" I say, following hot on his heels.
"You know who we’re playing today, right?"
"Yeah, man, we're at their fucking school."
"I didn't ask if you knew what school we are playing; I asked if you knewwhowe were playing."
I shake my head and release an anxious breath. Of course I know, and I can't wait to kick his ass on the field tonight. "We're playing your cousin's pretentious, silver-spoon boyfriend, Penn Hadley."
I can't help but grind my teeth in annoyance as her willingness to fill in for Milli today sinks in. She came to see him.
"No, we're playing a dead man," he spits.
I grab his arm and bring him to a stop. "What are you talking about? What fucking happened back there?"
"He didn't know Asha would be here." He glares toward their stables across the field. "So, when she walked out to the field to shoot, guess who she caught in her lens kissing another girl beside his horse?"
"She saw him?" My voice comes out raw, barely controlled.
"In high definition." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I happened to walk up behind her when she lowered the camera and quickly turned around, clearly upset."
Fury ignites in my chest. Penn Hadley, the golden boy with his perfect polo record, his bottomless trust fund, and the girl every guy would trade places for—gorgeous, loyal, and completely wasted on a guy who doesn't deserve her. He just hurt the only girl who's ever made me believe I could be worth something to someone.
"How long until we're up?" I ask, my voice eerily calm.
Hollis studies me for a second, and I see the exact moment he understands. A slow, dark smile spreads across his face. "Twenty minutes. Why?"
"Because I need you to switch positions with me."
"You want me to play number three?" His eyebrows shoot up. Number three is the attacking position, the glory position. The position that goes head-to-head with the other team's best defender. "You're captain this year. That's your seat, and Coach will never?—"
"Leave Coach to me. Penn isn't playing number three tonight; he's playing the one seat for some reason." I meet his eyes, letting him see everything burning behind mine. "I need to be on Penn."
Hollis's grin turns feral. "You know he's going to come at you hard. He plays dirty when he's threatened."
"Good." The word comes out like a promise. "I'm counting on it."
Twenty-three minutes later, I'm mounted on Santiago. Across the field, Penn sits on some overpriced mare, stretching in his saddle like he doesn't have a care in the world. Like he didn't just royally fuck up and hurt the girl… I force the thought away and focus on the weight of the mallet in my hand.
The umpire throws in the ball, and the game explodes into motion.
I'm on Penn immediately, riding him so close our stirrups clash. He tries to hook my mallet on the first play, but I'm faster, driving the ball downfield with enough force that it cracks like a gunshot.
"You're playing aggressive today, Hale," Penn calls out, positioning himself between me and the ball. There's a smirk in his voice, that entitled confidence that comes from never having consequences. I don't answer. I don't need to.
On the next play, I cut him off so hard he has to pull up short or risk a collision. His mare sidesteps nervously, and I see the flash of irritation cross his face.Good.
"What's your problem?" he snaps, recovering.
I lean in close as we ride parallel, close enough that only he can hear me. "My problem," I say, my voice deadly quiet, "is that you're still breathing."
I accelerate past him, calling for the pass from Hollis. The ball arcs through the air, and I'm there to meet it, my mallet connecting with a satisfyingcrack. The ball rockets toward the goal, and their defender is too far out of position to stop it. Score.
Penn's face darkens. He knows something's wrong now, knows this isn't normal gameplay. This is personal.
