Tyler’s eyes crinkle at the corners. He turns to answer Ryne but doesn’t try to keep his voice down. It’s almost like—well, no, it’s exactly like—he’s trying to get a rise out of him. “I’m just stating the facts, man. Dacen’s hot.” He turns to me again. “You’re hot.”
“Um, thank you? So are you?” This is kind of like the name compliment thing. What are you really supposed to say when someone says you’re hot? It’s not like you had anything to do with it unless the hotness comes from layers of makeup or clothing or something. It’s all genetics otherwise. Ryne rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, but they don’t leave. “Did you need a place to sit or something?”
Tyler shakes his head. “Nah, thanks though. I saw you here and wanted to let you know some guys from the team are going to grab an early dinner later after practice. In case, ya know, you want to join.”
I can’t remember if today is the day Mom has to work late, and Dad’s out of town for a couple of days, so I need to be home to let Robin Stark out and feed her if so. I pull my planner from my bag and flip to the schedule section. After a quick glance to confirm it’s tomorrow instead, I flip it closed and shove it back in. When I look up, Ryne’s eyeing my bag but with more of a curious dip in his brow than anything else.
“Yeah, sounds fun, thanks. I’ll be there. Whereverthereis.”
Tyler hands me his phone. “Put your number in and I’ll text you later to let you know where we’re going.”
I take his phone and input my number. “Sure, but you could also just let me know at practice?” I smile so he knows I’m teasing.
He sneaks a glance over at Ryne, who is looking away with his jaw set tightly and his arms still crossed. Tyler winks at me again, but in less of ahey, I’m flirting with youway, and more of alet’s see how far I can push Ryneway. He swings a leg over the bench and sits down, straddling the seat and facing me.
“I could, yeah, but then I wouldn’t have your number for other less innocent reasons.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Ryne mutters and stomps away without another word.
“Such a mouth on that one.” Evie tuts.
I purse my lips and look down my nose at Tyler, then smile. “He’s gonna blow a gasket one of these days if you keep it up.”
Tyler nods. “Yup, that’s the goal, Dacen. That’s the goal.” He waits until Ryne’s left the cafeteria and then stands up, pats me on the shoulder, and walks away.
Evie unscrews the top from her bottle of juice and takes a sip. “It’s really a wonder they haven’t all killed each other yet.”
It’s a downright miracle.
10
Ryne
“All right, guys, listen up.” Coach claps his hands twice. We all shut up and look at him from the ground where we’re currently stretching after our warm-up drills. “Keeping on the passing theme today, let’s head back on the field and spend some time on a four-on-three attack passing drill. Grimm, split everyone up into two groups, please.”
Tyler nods, hops up, and starts going down the row of guys, having everyone count off by twos. He was a great choice for team captain. He motivates people and helps keep the energy up. I don’t have the patience. Having to be all rah-rah go-team all the time to keep morale up is pretty much the antithesis of my personality. I listen closely and am not sure if I’m disappointed or relieved that Becker and I are on opposite teams. My uncertainty turns to irritation when Tyler announces Becker’s side is skins and my side is shirts. Whatever. I shake my head and stand up. Man-chest is man-chest. I’ve seen a million of ‘em, hell I’ve seen his before. I definitely do not watch as he slips his shirt over his head and tosses it down beside his water bottle. And I also do not notice how sleek and firm his muscles look. I absolutely do not stare a few seconds too long at his pierced nipple.
Sometimes I want to kick my own ass.
Fucking distractions.
The group I’m in starts on offense, so we line up on the opposite line of the goal we’re using for the drill. Becker’s group splits into two smaller groups and lines up on either side of the goal. The first set of guys from each team moves into position and the drill begins with Derek from the defense putting the ball in play by passing it over to Andy on the offense. The offensive side tries to move through and around the defense, passing back and forth on their way to the goal. Eventually, Andy takes a shot. The next set of players steps up to repeat the drill, and we go through this process until finally, it’s my group’s turn.
I stare down each of the defensive players across from me and a thrill runs through my stomach when my eyes land on Becker. My competitive streak so badly wants to win, even though this is just a practice drill. He puts the ball into play by sending it my way. I dribble around Jeremy and pass the ball to Landon, who feints right and then moves the ball down the left side. He passes it back to me and I head toward the goal. Becker moves my way. I grit my teeth and try to stay focused on the ball, but the closer he gets, the faster my heart races. When I go to pass the ball back to Landon, he slips inside and intercepts it.
“Look alive, Sutton!” Coach yells out from the sideline and then he jogs over to us. “Becker, nice job reading his body’s visual cues.”
My nostrils flare and I clamp my mouth shut.
“Thanks, Coach.” He wipes his sweaty forehead with an even sweatier arm and grimaces. Coach walks away to talk to Landon and Jeremy, and Becker stands there, taking in a few ragged breaths.
“Better luck next time, Ryne,” he whispers. He starts to turn and my mouth gets the best of me.
“I don’t need luck, thanks.”
His head whips back around. “Pardon?”
“I don’t need luck to kick your ass up and down this field.”
