Grant’s curses drown under my uncontrollable giggle fit as we climb the steps. And Cade is sparkling— or maybe it’s the stars in my eyes.
“You’re deranged.”
He grins. “Yeah?”
My face hurts from smiling. “Completely.” I snake an arm around his waist. “And I’m kinda obsessed with you.”
Hugging me closer, he bends to my ear.
“The feeling’s mutual,church girl.”
I gasp in faux outrage, shoving him away only for him to reel me back in by the hand.
And I let him— for a moment. Before shoving again like a petulant child, just to relive the high all over again.
Eleven
SEBA
Gnats buzzthrough the cage of my helmet, drawn in by the thick layer of sweat coating my face. I brace my hands on my thighs, too out of breath to swat them off. Late afternoon August heat seeps through my pads and practice jersey stained with mud, grass and perspiration.
No wonder my old North Fort Manor team always lost to Kingsbury. Coach Bentley runs the football program like a well-oiled machine. He’s a borderline drill sergeant. But he’s also completely controlled by the Athletic Department Board— aka the parents of some of the most arrogant, entitled rich bastards I’ve ever had the displeasure of sharing a field with. Those asswipes could commit murder and still hold their starting spots.
“Dayuuum!”
Speaking of the fuckers…
Wolf whistles ring across the field, directed at the squad of cheerleaders in micro shorts and sports bras practicing sideline chants on the track. Most of them giggle and ham it up, but one in particular with short brown hair tied in low pigtails shoots a glare over her shoulder.
I grin around my mouth guard. Of course Andrea is the only cheerleader disgusted by obnoxious football players. She’s also theonly one wearing a shirt— a fitted white tank top that clings to her petite curves, but a shirt nonetheless. It’s ridiculous that I'm happy she’s not on display like the others. The idea of my brutish teammates eye-fucking her has my fingers digging into my pads.
Get a grip.
She's not the only one distracting me today, though. This morning, Cade chose to walk to school. When Mom told me, I thought she was joking. Hehateswaking up early. He’ll stay in bed, snoozing every alarm until the last possible second. Not to mention, the only time he'll step foot outside is to smoke a cigarette. But he was gone before I made it downstairs.
Between classes, I searched for him to make sure he was alright, but every time I passed him in the halls, he ignored me. His avoidance infuriates me more than his pestering and pranking.
Isn't that what you wanted? Him to leave you alone?
My jaw clamps harder on the rubber mouthpiece.
A whistle blows.
“Two-minute water break!” Coach hollers.
I tug off my helmet and shake out my drenched hair as I trudge to the folding table stationed in the end zone, where my teammates line up in front of a row of orange coolers. (Much more sanitary than the hose we used at North Fort.)
As I join the line, laughter muffles to snickers and murmurs. Despite not being the most social guy, I’m usually well-liked, but apparently, the guys on the Kingsbury Football Team aren't fans of new players. Or the fact that Coach has me starting.
Tuning out their bullshit, I approach the jug, flicking the spout to fill my bottle.
“Hey, Holt.”
So much for keeping to myself…
Grant Larson, starting quarterback and team captain, leans an elbow on the furthest jug. Marcus, our running back, and a few of his buddies on offense hover in a semi-circle, watching.
I tip my chin at him and squirt some water in my mouth.
