“Sure.” He held up his hands, grin tugging wider. “I thought you’d say that.”
I swallowed hard, my grip tightening on my bag strap.
Noah let it hang there, like he knew exactly how much it would stick with me.
“That’s a low blow for a linebacker,” I muttered.
“Didn’t think you’d appreciate a horse collar,” he mumbled back.
I winced at the thought of Noah grabbing me by the back of the neck and throwing me down. “Ouch.”
“Does he know you’re upset too?”
I looked up at the man beside me. “I’m not crying over Dante Spence,” I told him firmly.
“Okay.” He pursed his lips. “So, why you getting hugs from me when we both know you’d prefer it if I were a little bit shorter, a helluva lot blonder, and considerably more infuriating?”
I couldn’t fight the smile. “Funny, hot,anda giver of great hugs, you are just filling that résumé, Matthews.”
“Aren’t I just.”
We came to a fork in the path, one way headed to the stadium, the other, ironically, to the library. My eyes caught the banner showing an image of Dante mid-game. With his helmet on, mid-throw, eyes narrowed in focus, looking completely every inch the quarterback he was.
“Call him, Savannah. I think you need to.” He gave me a wave, which was basically his fingers lifting off his strap.
I watched him walk away. “Hey, Noah!” I called after him, waiting for him to turn back. “My friends call me Savvy.”
His smile was stunning, but he was right. As much as he was easy to talk to and easy to look at, he wasn’t who I wanted to comfort me.
I wanted Dante.
Chapter 25
Dante
Three days after a fight, and my body still hurt.
My face still sported the bruises, ribs still not happy about a deep breath, and my shoulder still reminding me what it felt like to have a three-hundred-and-ten-pound lump of man land on you just as your arm let fly and you both crash down on solid ground. My painkillers weren’t working, and every time I reached for one, I saw her arched eyebrow. That was new and unwelcome.
Noah and I had our third day of extra training, and I was beginning to think I might just lie down on the ground and weep. These fuckers were definitely trying to kill me.
Fucking suicide runs on legs that had already spent hours training were slaying me. I had it down to just throwing up once, but I preferred to keep my lunch inside my body. Not out of it.
“You look like shit.”
“Dustin Slater, everyone. Friend or foe?” I grumbled as I wiped my mouth.
He was freshly showered, in his shorts, Lions T-shirt, hoodie, and feeling no pain at all.
Whereas Iwas feelingallthe pain.
“Are you moping?” Dust asked from the bench where he was half sprawled out, reveling in our misery. Noah was doing better, but not by much.
“I might be feeling sorry for myself,” I conceded grudgingly.
“Coach!” Dustin yelled to Coach Hembry, who, I was sure, was reading a fucking e-book. “Think you broke the starting quarterback!”
“Excellent!” Coach Hembry didn’t lift his head. “Spence, three more suicides to the thirty.”
