There goes any chance of a college football scholarship…
“Go home, clean up and cool off,” he commands with restrained fury. “When you step on this field tomorrow, I expect you two to be civil."
He’s not kicking me off the team? Not even benching me?
I nod numbly up at him.
“Yes, sir.”
He mutters something like,I’m not paid enough for this shit,and marches over to Larson, who’s still throwing the world’s biggest tantrum.
“Need a hand?” Whitley asks.
I wave him off, “Nah.” He eyes me skeptically, but doesn’t push it. With a groan, I get to my feet and shuffle to the pile of bags on the sidelines. Instead of hitting the locker room to shower and change, I sling my duffel over my shoulder and head behind the bleachers.
Under the stands, the temperature drops at least ten degrees. I toss my bag onto the patchy grass and take out my phone, staring at Cade’s contact for minutes on end. We’ve nevertexted— never really had a reason to after Declan made us exchange numbers on move-in day.
Blowing out a breath, I send a message.
Meet me behind the bleachers. Now.
An eternity passes. Sweat stings the cut on my brow and drips down my cheek. Whistles echo from the field behind me, accompanied by shouted drills. My thumb taps the side of my phone.
Fuck it.
I fire off another.
Cade. I’m serious.
Blue checks finally appear.
Cade:
Painting in the studio
It’s urgent
A minute passes.
No typing bubbles.
The asshole left me on read.
I rake a hand through my soaked hair and pace in a tight circle. Too many confusing emotions tangle into a massive knot in my chest. Words and images splice together.His stepbrother likes dick.Smooth pale thighs.It’s wrong.Myrrh and tonka cologne on the counter.A semi-sweet scent.Velvet soft skin.Feminine…
I have to know.
Would it change anything?
No.
It would changeeverything.
I’m reaching for my bag, ready to hunt him down in the art room, when I hear sneakers crunching through the grass. Caderounds the corner, hands deep in the pockets of his baggy jeans, a streak of blue paint smeared on his cheek.
As soon as he spots me, he comes to an abrupt halt. Our eyes meet for the first time since last night. A different kind of tension strings me taut.
“You’re bleeding.”
