AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Don’t do that, give up like that. This has nothing to do with football and your skill versus his—”
“Of course it doesn’t,” I say. I roll my head until my gaze meets my father’s, and I can see in his expression that he is failing to find soothing words. “That’s the problem, Dad. Being great at football”—I sneer and shake my head—“None of that matters because Toby’s family is so fucking rich! Dad, they probably bought a building already, or purchased this season’s uniforms. And Toby might never suit up and take a snap at Brown, but he’ll make their roster. They’ll admit him over me. Because his family can make that happen and mine can’t.”
I stand and march out of my room, my chest heavy with guilt because that wasn’t a fair thing to say. But what am I even doing here, trying to trick the system when it’s so rigged? I hear my mom shout, “Hey!” when I slam the door behind me. She’s not big on temper tantrums. I still can’t sit in the armchair in their bedroom without thinking of the times she put me in time out in that seat at our old apartment. I haven’t thrown a proper temper tantrum since I was five or six, though, so maybe I get a free pass with this one. And is it really a tantrum if it’s a natural reaction to life mocking me?
I don’t bother calling Morgan, instead marching to her dorm, taking the stairs two at a time and hoping I figured the room number right based on the names scribbled on the mailbox downstairs. The Triple-B sign on the door decorated with their names confirms things for me, and I knock before I chicken out.
Several seconds pass and I question whether she’s even here. I wouldn’t blame her for leaving. I basically stood her up. Their room is silent, but to be sure, I knock again and press my ear to the door. I’m about to lean my weight into it when it’s yanked open and I stumble into Morgan’s body. She wraps her arms around me and cushions my fall by stumbling several steps backward until she’s leaning on her desk.
“Wow, look who has a sudden sense of urgency.” She pushes me away and folds her arms. Her pursed lips are a pretty clear hint that she’s pissed.
I sigh and hang my head, knowing I don’t have a good excuse.
“I’m sorry. I had some complicated shit to work out.” I don’t want to tell her my dad doesn’t approve of her, and I’m not in the mood to talk about Toby either, so I leave it at that and hope it’s enough
Her head tilted to the side, she studies me for a beat, probably trying to decide if I’m worth the hassle. I’m not sure I am. She put on her Welles sweatshirt and is wearing black leggings with socks bunched up at the ankles with bright red sneakers. Her hair is split in two with curled ponytails resting on either shoulder. And while her lips are glossed with a soft pink color, she’s not wearing much makeup besides that. Or perhaps I don’t know what to look for when it comes to that kind of stuff. Whatever it is, she looks . . . well, fucking hot like she always does, only somehow more. My eyes give me away as they flit down her body.
“Are we going to get food?” Her question feels out of left field, and I’m caught staring at her hips as I laugh and blink my way back to meet her gaze.
“I mean, do you want food?” I shake my head and shrug, a bit of relief seeping into my lungs, allowing me a full breath.
“Yeah, I want food. I’m hungry, and I wantrealfood,” she demands.
“Like what, pork chops? Potatoes? Dinner salad?”
She grabs a notebook at her side and throws it at my chest. I deflect it to the floor but grab my chest as if she’s speared me.
“Don’t be dramatic. Get me a burger,” she says, grabbing a small bag from her desk that she shoves her phone and keys into, then crosses over her chest and shoulders. I gawk at her as she marches to her door, which is still open from where I barreled through it. She spins around when she enters the hall and gives me the same look my mom does when I’m on her last nerve. Somehow, it’s a lot cuter on Morgan’s face.
She snaps at me.
“Burger.”
I shake my head and follow her lead.
“Yeah, all right. Okay,” I say, exiting her room and waiting in the hall for her to lock the door.
“What are you driving?” she asks the moment her keys leave the lock.
I twist my lips and feel my pocket, glad my family’s truck keys are still in there. I carried them around our apartment after practice while I paced, debating what the hell I was going to do. I pull them out and jingle them.
“Ford, lifted. Glad you wore something you can climb in.”
She walks up to me and stops so our shoulders touch, putting on a bit of a haughty attitude. I think she’s playing now, though. Either way, I like it. She looks down at the thin space between us then back into my eyes, twisting her lips.
“I can climb into a truck wearing pretty much anything,” she says, her brow set at a challenging slant.
I poke my tongue in my cheek.
“Huh,” I say, my immediate thoughts of her in, well, just about anything and stepping up a two-foot lift.
“I’m hungry. Let’s go.” She turns and heads to the stairs, and I follow a few steps behind, wondering how I got so lucky for her to forgive me for putting her off. Of course, she doesn’t exactly know that part, and I don’t want to tell her. Besides, what does any of this matter if the system is set up to favor guys like Toby anyhow?
We get to the parking lot and I press unlock on the key fob, flashing the truck lights.
“Nice rig,” Morgan says, giving me a sideways glance.
A crooked smile etches into my mouth. I get the hint that she’s the kind of girl who likes big trucks. My dad would like that if he simply stopped to get to know her.
