Rafe subconsciously rubbed his eye socket, right in the spot where Bryce Wexler’s elbow had made contact the last time we played.
“Hello, boys. I take it from the look on your faces that you didn’t get the memo. There was a change of scheds due to a stomach flu going round; we were asked to swap our next spot. And who could resist meeting New York’s newest club owner? Shame it’s the runt of the sport’s litter.”
I ignored the jab because he wasn’t far off the truth… but only for the rest of this season. One of the other teams would be taking that crown from us.
“God, could you be any more of a douche? Just fucking say ‘schedule’, you loser.”
Wexler ignored Rafe and dropped his bag next to the spare bench on the other side of the court. His two compadres followed him. I couldn’t remember their names, but in fairness to them, they’d always seemed like they were decent enough. Wasn’t their fault they had to work with a dickhead.
Rafe picked up the ball which had been sitting at his feet and began bouncing it. The guy with the red hair on Wexler’s team pulled out a coin, ready for the toss.
“Okay, we all know the rules, first to twenty-one wins or the highest score after twenty minutes of play time, whichever is the sooner. Half time at ten minutes.”
“Just throw it,” snapped Wexler.
“Heads,” shouted Murray as the coin rose through the air then fell to the ground. We all peered over it. “Great, we’ll take possession first.”
By the ten minute break, we were dripping in sweat and sucking down the bottles of water we’d brought. Rafe hadnarrowly missed a couple of sharp elbows which hit Murray instead, but our team had scored four times, thanks to fine athletic specimens that I was playing with. Wexler’s team had only managed to get one hoop past us, something Wexler was none too happy about, given the volume he was using to yell at his teammates.
“Hey, Wexler, trying being a bit nicer and maybe your colleagues will want to play better!” Murray baited him, though I definitely saw the brown haired one smile. “Or maybe you should just go home and practice your dunking. We can beat your ass next time.”
Wexler turned round with a distinctly evil glint in his eye and looked directly at me, even though it was Murray who’d been baiting him.
“Can’t tonight. I’ve got a date with that little blonde Shepherd got in my way of last week. Tonight I’ll be closing the deal and helping myself to her sweet,sweetpussy.” He chef kissed the air.
“God, he’s disgusting,” Rafe muttered under his breath, while I was trying to figure out who the fuck he was talking about.
I hadn’t seen him since… I stopped breathing. I hadn’t seen him since my grandfather’s party, when he’d been talking to Lowe at the bar.
“What did you say?” My voice was eerily calm.
“You heard. I’ve kept Lowe Slater on the backburner long enough, it’s time for me to collect. She’ll be begging for it.”
Murray moved into my path and put one hand on my chest. It was an unnecessary warning, because I knew Lowe was at home. I knew she was waiting for me, and I knew everything coming out of his mouth was a lie. But Murray could no doubt feel the hammering of my heart as fury powered through my veins at full strength. Except I was Lucian Shepherd’s grandson, and I was smart enough not to lay the first punch, no matter how much I wanted to knock Wexler’s teeth out.
I rolled my lips and stepped forward. “You’re a pathetic, lying shit, Wexler. Let me give you a little tip: if it’s so hard to get a girl that you need to invent a date, maybe you need to think about paying for it. Because that’s the only logical way you’re going to get a girl to willingly spend time with you once they’ve experienced more than thirty seconds in your company.”
I was close enough to smell the rancid scent coming off his body, but I didn’t touch him. Bryce Wexler, however, was not as smart as I was, and the sting of the first blow hitting my right cheek was all I needed as an excuse to give him the pummeling he so richly deserved. It came with more weight that I was expecting, but I stayed standing firm.
Every shred of frustration I’d felt today, this last week, forever, rose up through me with force as my fist made contact with his jaw. And mine had enough power to knock him on his ass. “Don’t you dare say her fucking name ever again! Come anywhere near her and you’ll be eating through a straw for a month!”
It was a testament to what an utter piece of garbage he was that his teammates barely helped him stand, while Murray stepped straight into dad-mode and was already tending to my wound.
The red head came forward. “Fellas, let’s call it a night. Penn, you okay?”
“He’s fine,” answered Rafe, “but yeah, we’ll call it. And if I read about this in any form of media tomorrow or ever, I’ll be suing all your asses for assault.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll make sure he keeps his mouth shut. Sorry about this.”
“Thanks, dude.” Rafe pointed to Wexler. “Maybe get him checked out by a doctor.”
“Yeah.”
We watched them collect their bags and walk off. I tried to feel bad about the way Wexler was hobbling slightly, but I couldn’t muster up a single fuck to give.
“Shall I call Lauren? This looks nasty; it’s bleeding a lot.” Murray dabbed one of Bell’s wet-wipes over my eye, making me wince slightly.
“No, I’ll be fine.” I took the packet of wipes from him and smiled. “It’ll dry up soon. Thanks, buddy. What a fucking day, eh?”
