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His fingers clasp around my wrist and he strings me along towards him. I try to twist and pull, but that only makes his grip harsher.
“Let me go,” I grit out, hating all the audience that has stopped to see the show.
My cheeks flame with hot, flashing anger at being manhandled in public. Way to ruin my top-notch invisible reputation.
“Meet me after school,” he whispers in that deep, slightly husky voice.
It’s not a request, it’s a flat out order. He must be so used to people falling at his feet.
“Why would I want to do that?” I give up trying to remove my wrist and glare up at him.
He taps my nose twice. “Wait for me at the car park after practice.”
“No.”
“Be there, princess.”
He must still see defiance written all over my face. Instead of cowering away, his eyes shine with mischievousness and something so similar to ‘Challenge accepted’.
When he speaks this time, it’s loud enough for everyone surrounding us to hear.
“Don’t worry. This time I won’t make you beg for it.” He smirks. “For long.”
Scorching heat climbs up my neck and to my face, bathing me in red hot embarrassment mixed with blinding anger.
He offers a smug grin that says, ‘I always win’ before he taps my nose again and walks in the opposite direction. Everyone goes out of their way to let him go through as if they actually believe he’s the king or some shit.
I stand like a red ball, watching his retreating back with stupefaction as one of the other seniors joins him and soon enough, half of the football team are waltzing alongside him toward the locker room.
Everyone continue gawking at me as if I’m a world wonder — or a mass murderer, I can’t be so sure with some of the girls’ glares.
“Slut,” one of them hisses as she brushes past me.
The anger that should be directed at her or her minions that said similar insults is burning in the opposite direction.
The locker room and the wanker in it.
King wants me to meet him after school?
I’ll be meeting him after school, all right, but he’ll be wishing he never issued his royal decree.
6
Levi
You could’ve escaped the battle, but you asked for a bloody war.
* * *
Coach yells at the front lines, his voice reverberating over the pitch like he’s a general at war. Or maybe he’s the strategist.
The royal blue baseball cap with RES’s golden crown covers his bald head.
He rolls his notes into what resembles a bat that he doesn’t hesitate to strike the slacking players with.
We just finished our first practice game for the season. The main team lost against the second-year team. Two to nill.
Two to fucking nill.
