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“I think Annica has been eaten alive by the green-eyed monster. She wants your position on the team.” When I remain silent, she continues. “If that girl could skin you alive and wear you as a coat, she would.”
I scrunch my nose at the vivid image she paints. “That’s fairly disturbing.”
“You know what?” She doesn’t bother waiting for a response. “Her behavior has been pretty disturbing.”
Sydney’s right about that. The situation with Annica has spun out of control. I’d hoped that if I gave it enough time and didn’t give her the reaction she was looking for, the girl would get bored and move on, but that has yet to happen. If anything, her behavior has only become more spiteful and ruthless.
“Dem,” she says, cutting into my thoughts, “you can’t let this slide anymore. Some of the younger girls already seek her out for advice and look up to her as a leader. She’ll continue to wreak havoc on this team if you let her.”
That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.
When did it all go so wrong?
When I was named co-captain last season? Our relationship was definitely tense last year, but I have no idea if that’s what caused the rift. Now I’m captain and Annica is my co-captain. I suppose I’d been holding out hope that it would appease her, and she’d settle into her leadership role with more grace. That hasn’t happened. At every turn, she attempts to undermine my authority. I haven’t taken this issue to Coach because I should be able to solve this on my own. That’s part of the responsibility of being captain.
What a fucking mess.
“I’ll talk to her,” I mutter, not looking forward to the conversation.
Sydney reaches out and tangles her fingers with mine. “Good. Now...what do you say to making me breakfast?” With her other hand, she rubs her toned belly. “I’m starving.”
I laugh and shake my head. “I say you’re crazy.”
“You’ve known that for a while, and you’re still here. So, I guess that means you’re stuck with me.”
I wrap my arms around her and squeeze tight. Honestly, there’s no one else in life I’d rather be stuck with. Sydney is my ride or die, which means, I’m on the hook for making breakfast.
“Eggs or pancakes,” I ask.
“Both!”
A chuckle slips free as I shake my head.
Why am I not surprised?
Sydney is an all or nothing kind of girl. And I wouldn’t have her any other way.
12
Demi
“Hey, Demi! Wait up!”
I stiffen, immediately recognizing the voice. Instead of slowing down, I tuck my chin against my chest and haul ass, hoping to lose him in the herd of students moving across campus like cattle. I’m not usually one to run and hide, but I’ll make an exception in this case.
“Demi!”
The voice grows louder, and I realize he’s closer than I had originally suspected.
Crappity...crap, crap, crap.
When a heavy hand lands on my shoulder, I silently acknowledge that escape isn’t in the cards for me this morning. A potent concoction of disbelief and anger shoots through me as I attempt to shrug him off. After finding Justin and Annica together Saturday night, he’s the last person I want touching me. Honestly, I’m a little surprised he has the nerve to seek me out in the first place. I had assumed by unspoken agreement we would avoid each other for the rest of the year.
“Justin.” Reluctantly I flick my gaze in his direction only to discover that his nose is bruised and swollen.
That’s new. It certainly wasn’t like that when I left the party. My brain whirls, silently trying to figure out what happened. Is there any truth to the rumors Sydney heard? Did Rowan get into a fight with Justin after I took off Saturday night?
He must notice where my attention is focused, because his fingers brush self-consciously over the battered flesh. Instead of acknowledging the injury, he asks instead, “Do you have a minute to talk?”
“Not really.” I hasten my pace. “I have to get to class.”
Not taking no for an answer, he quickly says, “I’ll walk with you, and we can talk on the way.”
Awesome.
Thankfully, Corbin Hall looms on the horizon. If I speed walk, I can be there in five minutes, tops. The less interaction I have with Justin, the better off we’ll both be. After discovering his extracurricular activities, there’s nothing left to discuss.
“So,” he clears his throat when I remain stoically silent, “I wanted to apologize again for the other night.”
The guy is delusional if he thinks we’re going to brush this neatly under the carpet and move on. What happened wasn’t an accident. Any hope of us remaining friends has been obliterated. I don’t even want to look at him.
“You mean when I stumbled on you getting a blowie from Annica?”
He has the good grace to flinch at my blunt description. “Yeah, I’m sorry. It shouldn’t have happened.”
