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That game I realized I never really liked the sport. I played because it was the only time my parents acknowledged my existence as more than a nuisance, until they didn’t. I was pissed and unlike Cooper, I couldn’t walk around campus beating the shit out of people.
But on the field, I can do whatever the fuck I want with little to no consequence.
The referee blows his whistle, flagging us with a fifteen-yard penalty for unsportsmanlike conduct. Coach Riley yanks me back by the shoulder pads while Assistant Coach Greene does the same to Gunner. They escort us off the field, like two pissed off parents, and leave us on the sidelines.
“Sit your ass down, Harris, and don’t fucking move!” Spit flies from Coach Riley’s mouth, spraying his hand and the finger in my face.
I spit a wad of blood-tinged saliva on the neon green grass beside the bench. It would be fun to change the bulbs in the stadium lights to black lights. I bet the field would light up brighter than a Christmas tree with all the chemicals they spray.
“We’re gonna lose the fucking game because of you,” Gunner growls from the other side of the bench. He grabs his blue and white helmet and throws it near the water station. Unlike me, he actually cares enough to try his best each game. Too bad for him his best isn’t worth a damn.
“No. We’re going to lose because Cooper didn’t bother to show up and you can’t block for shit.” I look over my shoulder at the people in the stands.
Even though we’re losing thirteen-to-three, the crowd screams enthusiastically as the play continues without us. Majority of the first row in the stands is full of cleat chasers, anxious to be tonight’s newest playmate. They don’t care which teammate they leave with, as long as they show up to the after party on our arms.
I lock eyes with a pretty brunette with long pigtails and short shorts. She reminds me of Danika back in the eighth grade: awkward and top heavy. I give her a small upwards nod and she and her friends squeal with excitement. Not giving two shits if Coach gets pissed, I strut over to the girl.
The girl grips the rail separating us and looks down at me. Her shirt has 96, my number, scrawled on it in glitter blue paint; something else my best friend used to do back in the day. Tonight, Danika’s probably wearing Gunner’s number and it sets me on fire again. I’ve never been the jealous type, but Danika is changing me. I just haven’t figured out if it’s for better or for worse yet.
“Hey, Logan,” she purrs.
I don’t bother asking for the girl’s name. I don’t care what it is. In an hour, maybe less, she’ll be riding my cock, washing me of my infatuation with my neighbor. But for now she’ll serve a different purpose. “Got a smoke?”
The girl’s smile falls for a fraction of a second before someone hands her a cigarette. “I do now.”
She places it between her cherry red lips, lights it, taking a drag for herself before passing it to me. I grab the cigarette from her but don’t actually want it. My ribs are throbbing now the adrenaline has worn off. I have a feeling that smoking will take this pain from tolerable to unbearable.
The girl beams down at me. “Are you going to Jake’s party tonight?”
“Move!” my least favorite voice says, pushing her way through the bundle of women crowding the rail. I fight a smile, because I know without a doubt Danika is here for me. Not Gunner. It doesn’t matter that I piss her off and push her away, she always comes back.
“Are you insane?” Danika yells.
I shrug, taking a drag off the cigarette in my hand. I was right. Breathing this shit hurts like a bitch. I drop it beside me and vaguely wonder if the chemicals on the grass are flammable. Normally the thought would be amusing, but with Danika in the stands I don’t want to take any chances and step on the wasted cigarette until the cherry goes out.
My red-lipped plaything glowers. “Back off, bitch, I was here firs
t.”
“Shut the fuck up, Lydia,” Danika replies, and I vaguely remember that is the girl’s name. “I have no problem throwing you over this rail to get you out of my way.”
Lydia crosses her arms and raises one perfectly plucked eyebrow. “I’d like to see you try.”
Danika smirks, stepping towards Lydia who flinches. As thrilling as it is watching her fight over me, I don’t want Lydia any closer than she already is. “Dani!” I say, catching her attention with her middle school nickname. “Shouldn’t you be checking on your boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Awe, babe. You came to check on me,” Gunner says coming up behind me, oblivious. “This is why I love you.”
Lydia and her friends gasp. As far as I know, Gunner has never said those words to anyone, let alone publicly. It’s a big moment for Gunner’s reputation, and one-hundred percent a shitty, selfish way to drop the L-bomb. I hope Danika can see this for what it is, a move to get down her pants. There’s no way this dickwad fell in love in three weeks.
Me on the other hand…nope. Not going there.
All color drains from Danika’s face. She looks sick but forces a smile that’s more of a grimace. “Gunner—”
“I thought I told you sorry sacks of shit not to move!” Coach Riley yells, saving Danika from a publicly humiliating conversation. “Get your asses back to the bench before I ban you from next week's game!”
15
