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He gets up, but not at the speed I wish. It’s like he knows the best revenge for my offenses is to stick around and annoy me. The reminder of his body under my hand is still too fresh. I need to go back to thinking about him as some conceited fool and not as a boy I want to make out with. Or more.
He brushes off his butt. “Fine, but don’t forget you owe me. And I’ll collect when you least expect it.”
“Crap.”
“Oh, and make sure to put your phone in rice.” Max gives me one last little smirk before he walks out.
I collapse face down on my bed. If the impending hangover doesn’t do me in, Massimo Cassiano will be the death of me. And frankly, I’ll deserve what’s coming to me.
CHAPTER 11
MAX
Iwill die. No, I am dying. Coach’s intent is to cause mass casualties. I hope to be the first one to go. That way the torture can just freaking end.
But no, I have to go and be a competitive bastard. I wish this were the moment when I learned to give up, except somehow, I’m still holding on. By a thread. My entire body trembles like a leaf. The arch of my back threatens to collapse several times. There’s a pool of sweat on the mat beneath me. Every muscle in my body stopped burning a while ago and now just feels cold. Like I’m turning into a marble statue, frozen in a plank forever.
The worst part is that the mirror is right in front of me. I can see veins bulging in my neck and temples. My face is so red that, in any other circumstance, I’d call 911. I will my reflection to hang on. There’s no way I’ll be the first one to drop.
All around me, the rest of the team is trapped in the same struggle. Coach Green paces up and down the line of players.
“I can’t prevent you all from being reckless, but at least don’t get caught,” he says in a grumble. This is all thanks to Boucher, whose video of him doing a keg stand at Friday’s party reached the staff.
The culprit himself is the first to collapse with a thud. Somehow, he still has the energy to open his big yap, though. “The Strikes were also drinking. Why are we the only ones getting punished?”
Coach barks, “Because they didn’t get caught!”
Yeah, thanks to me forcing people to delete the videos of Tinker Bell passed out on my back and also chasing one Strike who took an incriminating picture and getting her to delete it too. And this is what I get. Ten minutes in a plank position.
Finally, the whistle goes off. Some of the guys let go, but I have to go be that dipshit who slowly, calmly, eases back to his knees and takes deep breaths as if he could’ve kept going for the world record.
Bile rushes up my throat, and I swallow it back down like a champ.
Next to me, Nate sounds dizzy as he whispers, “Okay, but we’re hitting O’Malley’s this Friday, right?”
“How can you think about partying after this?” Conor shakes his head. Again, probably feeling as dizzy as I am.
“It’s not like they’ll sell us booze at the bar.”
“I have class,” I croak out without following the string of their conversation. “But how am I going to get there?”
I look down at my thighs. It might be my imagination, but they look thicker than usual. Like inert tree trunks.
“Same.” Conor groans like an old man while he struggles to get on his feet.
It takes me a good while to follow his example. And a few more seconds to balance myself. Still longer until I’m able to put one foot before the other. Last week, I had about twenty minutes to spare before Intro to Entrepreneurship. Today, I’ll be lucky if I make it twenty seconds before the lecturer.
A frigid shower helps ease my muscles, turning me into something resembling a normal human. I get the point Coach was trying to make. We were immature, especially coming off losing a significant game. So would I do it again, given the choice?
Absolutely freaking yes.
It’s not like I’ll forget the way Tinker Bell felt me up any time soon.
I shake my head to myself as I bike over to the business school buildings. That whole episode was a glitch in the matrix. She wasn’t herself, and I don’t think I was either. I should’ve left the second she fell asleep, even if meant walking across campus half-naked. But I didn’t want to. I kept waiting for the moment she woke up so I could see the look on her face when she figured out what she’d done. Giving Tinker Bell crap is an unexpected source of fuel for me.
Speaking of, I spot her right away as I walk into the classroom. She sits in the middle, wearing a T-shirt with sunflowers printed on it. She must be the sun, though, and the rest of the guys in class her sunflowers. They keep sneaking glances at her as if they can’t look away. Especially her seat mate.
“Stinking Brett,” I mutter under my breath.
