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“It’s going to be a dog fight,” Lylah says, strutting up beside me.
“Excuse me?”
“Beaumont got word that Bexley is out and Aaron is in, which means they’ll be all over him. He and Cole are going to have their work cut out for them.”
I’ve never really cared much about the football team until now. I glance back at them and search for Cole. He’s right there in the huddle, but on the edge, as if he can’t quite throw himself fully into the fold.
I know how that feels. To be a part of something but still be on the periphery.
“Okay, girls,” Miss Jones shouts over the noise of the crowd. “Let’s show the crowd how it’s done.”
“Smiles on, stomachs in, and watch those landings,” Lylah hisses as she moves ahead of us.
As the crowd grows quiet, ready for our big moment, I feel someone watching me. I instantly find Cole—he’s sitting on the bench, head hung low and shoulders hunched, and I realize, much to my disappointment, it isn't him. No, whoever is watching me is behind me, across the field, where the opposing team is gathered.
I poise my pom-poms, waiting for the opening beat. But the heated stare never lets up.
And just as the music cuts in I swear I hear a voice yell, “You and me, Blondie.”
Chapter Eight
Cole
My teeth grind as I listen to the asshole taunting her, but I refuse to look up and show her that I know what’s going on. I saw her reaction when he first called out to her; she’s not interested in a prick like that.
She’s too good. Too pure.
So why does she seem so interested in you?
I shake that thought from my head as the music starts and try to focus on the game ahead of us.
It’s a fucking miracle I’m even sitting here. When Coach dragged me into his office not long after I turned up this morning, I thought he was going to bench my ass. For some unknown reason though, he ignored the stench of alcohol and weed that must have surrounded me like a fog and, after ripping me a new one for my behavior, he passed me a very strong cup of coffee and demanded that I sweat it out in the gym until I was sober enough to go back to class.
I was grateful that he wasn’t sending me home. Not that I really feel like I’ve got one. James’ house isn’t my home, and I don’t think it ever will be. It’s just a pile of bricks and a roof that I’m forced to live in.
If I can keep it together enough to make it through the year and get a football scholarship to a college, then I’ll be out of here at the first possible opportunity. I don’t care where I go, I just know that I need to. I need to start over where my name doesn’t cause everyone to judge me before they’ve even met me. Somewhere people won’t know my tragic story before I even get a chance to introduce myself. Somewhere I can just be me. The quiet, dark, brooding asshole that I am.
The music booms around the stadium, and although I tell myself to keep my eyes on the ground, I can’t help myself and my head lifts in the direction of the cheerleaders. Or more so, one cheerleader in particular.
She does some elaborate somersault thing that makes my brows lift in appreciation before she huddles with the others. I should probably be watching the girls flying through the air, but I can’t take my eyes off her legs. I bite down on the inside of my cheeks as I think about what it might be like having them wrapped around my waist as I thrust inside her tight little cunt.
My mouth waters as my cock swells. I have no doubt she’d let me. The last two times I had my hands on her she’s been more than willing for more. But that doesn’t mean I should take it. I might have warned her off Hayden, but even a blind man could probably see that she’d be better off with him than the likes of me.
It doesn’t mean I’m going to let him fucking have her, though.
“Get in here, ladies,” Coach yells over the booming crowd as the cheerleaders bring their routine to a close.
He gives us his final speech about working as a team and fighting together for the win we deserve before he sets us free.
“You ready for this?” Hayden asks, slapping me on the shoulder as we head for our positions.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
He gives me a hard stare, probably wondering, just like everyone else—myself included—why I’ve been allowed to play tonight. I might be the best running back we’ve got, and Coach might be desperate to win, but I know there’s more to it. I just can’t figure out what it is.
The second I look up, I find the asshole who was shouting at Hadley, the Bull’s number fifty-five, staring right at me.
I smile in return, which only makes him laugh. Naïve motherfucker.
