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Cass blinks, amused expression dying. “I have never wanted to know anything less in my life.”
Ignoring our friend, Nick fixes with a look bordering on disappointment. “I don’t get why you don’t wanna have a little fun this summer.”
“Messing around with my ex-girlfriend would not be fun.” It would be the absolute antithesis of fun. Long, hot months of stress and tension and the awkward, unavoidable knowledge that come summer’s end, I’d be leaving again.
Nick clearly disagrees, his scoff as telling as his words. “Meaningless sex is always fun.”
“You would know.” Cass slaps him on the thigh, threatening the fragile stability he’s achieved atop his steed, before clapping a palm down on my shoulder. “Don’t listen to him. Not everyone needs their dick hard to have a good time.”
“I’m just curious, asshole.” Nick risks face-planting the dirty ground to kick a wobbly leg in Cass’ direction. “This is about the blonde, isn’t it?”
One question and my face feels hot, my throat oddly dry, a question I already know the answer to leaving me at an embarrassingly high pitch. “Who?”
“The blonde from Greenie's.” Nick smirks. “The one you like drooling over.”
I cough, shrugging like I’m not dangerously close to bursting into flames. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
Nick’s resounding laugh is anything but subtle. “Sure you don’t.”
God, I wish I could truthfully call his claims bullshit. I wish that Nick wasn’t there when one of many nights spent at Greenies suddenly offered something different than the usual unwanted drinks and counting down the minutes until I could go home without complaint. I wish that I’d never looked up the exact moment a pretty blonde waitress with eyes the same sparkling, clear blue as the creek we’re heading to and a pouty, pink smile that could bring a man to his knees breezed past our table and caught my undivided attention, leading to a infuriating amount of teasing from the friend who witnessed it.
“Come on,” Nick pries, smiling mockingly. “You gonna pine from afar forever?”
Right now, that is my plan.
Something about her sucks the tiny shreds of confidence I possess out of me—I can barely smile and order a beer let alone flirt with the girl.
I don’t answer aloud but it’s like Nick reads my mind, his sigh accompanied with a playful chastising tut. “Let’s hope she likes the silent brooding type.”
It’s my turn to sigh.
I highly fucking doubt it.
4
JACKSON
“Who is that guy?”
Metal creaks loudly as Cass leans forward, feet planted on the bleacher bench in front of us as he stares quizzing at the field littered with sweaty, sprinting teenagers.
When Coach mentioned he was running a couple of practices over the summer for incoming freshmen, I thought it was a great idea. When he strongly encouraged—code for threatened—the team to help out, I didn’t actually mind. I thought it would be a good way to curry favor with Coach and meet prospective teammates, and that maybe, even if driving back and forth from Serenity sucks, it would be fun.
That, however, was when I had no idea it would involve baking in the hot, July sun for hours, only occasionally pitching in with encouraging words and advice that mostly goes ignored.
Most of the team crapped out after an hour, the threat of sunstroke more daunting than Coach's wrath. But Cass wanted to stay to scope out the newbies, so I stayed too.
One newbie in particular stands out, the one Cass is watching like a hawk. Kid would probably be a better word to describe this guy. Blond, lanky as shit, a face like ahigh schoolfreshman. Even from this distance, I can tell he’s got an attitude, cocky as he struts about the field but with one hell of an arm to back it up. Honestly, he rivals Cass’ unnatural talent which is probably why my friend hasn’t taken his eyes off him for the last hour.
“I've no idea,” I answer his earlier question. “But he's pretty good.”
Cass grunts unintelligibly and leans back in his seat, cocking his head thoughtfully.
The moment Coach calls a well-needed water break, Cass is on his feet and working his way toward the stampede of guys desperate for a cold beverage.
Sighing, I follow, nudging my friend in the ribs when I catch up. “Leave the kid alone.”
“I just wanna talk,” he protests, thwarting any attempt to stop him when he cups his hands around his mouth and the booming sound of his voice echoes around the field. “Hey!”
