Page 19 of Faking the Goal

His mouth snaps shut, but only for a second.

"You ever think about having some fucking self-respect, Lewis?"

That wipes the smile right off my face.

Kentaro keeps going, apparently too committed to being an asshole to notice that he's finally hit something that isn't funny anymore.

"You let these guys take you into whatever dirty bathroom happens to be available, and then you act surprised when people make assumptions about you. You keep making yourself that easy for them, eventually that's all they're going to think you're good for."

For a second, all I can do is stare at him.

Wow.

That one actually fucking stings.

Not because I believe him. Fuck that. I've heard enough versions of slut, whore, easy whispered behind my back that the words should probably come printed on my college transcript by now.

It stings because this motherfucker doesn't know me.

Not even a little.

And somehow he's decided that's enough to tell me what I'm worth.

"Oh, shit." I widen my eyes. "Are you my dad?"

His brow furrows. "What?"

"Because I can't think of another reason you'd believe you're entitled to stand there and lecture me about who I fuck."

"I'm not lecturing you."

I bark out a laugh. "You literally just asked if I have any self-respect."

"Because I don't understand what you get out of this." His frustration rises with his voice as he steps closer. "The parties, the random hookups, going home with guys you barely fucking know. Do you get some kind of kick out of it?"

"Why are you asking?" I shoot back. "It's not like you actually care."

His expression shifts.

"I know exactly what you think of me, Azuma. So whatever answer I give you isn't going to matter, because you've already made up your mind about who I am." I wave a hand between us. "So quit yapping in my face about shit you know absolutely nothing about and leave me alone."

I move to walk past him.

Kentaro steps into my path.

I stop short. "Move."

"I'm trying to understand why you act like none of it matters. You keep putting yourself in these situations with people you barely know like nothing could ever go wrong. You're so fucking careless about your own safety sometimes, it's like you're practically daring something to happen."

"And I'm trying to understand why you think I owe you an explanation."

"You don't."

"Fantastic. Glad we cleared that up."

I try to sidestep him again, but he moves at the same time, and my back bumps against the wall. Kentaro catches himself with one hand against it beside my head rather than crashing into me, and suddenly there's a whole lot of six-foot-two hockey goalie occupying the space in front of me.

For one strange second, neither of us says anything.