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Multiple heads snap our way but Cass’ gaze doesn’t waver from his target. The kid frowns at the attention, head shifting from right to left as he checks his surroundings before pointing at himself, tilting his head, and mouthing “me?”
Stifling a laugh, I mimic Cass’ nod, hoping my smile is a hell of a lot less intimidating than my friend’s downright thunderous expression,
The second he’s within earshot, Cass introduces himself but he’s abruptly interrupted. “I know,” the kid pants, grinning teeth startling white against his flushed skin. “Cass Morgan. You killed it last season.”
I groan internally as a slick smile twists Cass’ mouth. Chest puffed, he shoots me a smug look, his earlier disdain suddenly nowhere to be found. Rolling my eyes, I shift my attention back to the kid, opening my mouth only for my introduction to be cut off as well. “Oscar Jackson. I know you, too.”
I pause a moment before arching a brow. “No compliment for me?”
His smile is nothing short of pure cheek. “You’re pretty good.”
A glowing review.
“You got a name?”
“Ben. Ben Smith.”
“You coming here in the fall?”
“You're a shoo-in for the team,” Cass points out when the kid nods, and I pray Ben wipes the starstruck expression off his face before my friend’s head blows up. “After today, I doubt Coach will even make you try out.”
I hum my agreement; a severe understatement. Like Cass was, he’s too good to even entertain the ridiculous idea of not making the team. And like he did Cass, Coach is already looking at Ben with hearts and trophies in his eyes.
The kid doesn’t preen under the praise. He doesn’t play the modest prodigy. No, he grins lazily, shrugs, and I bet if he had long hair like me, he’d toss it nonchalantly over his shoulder. “I know.”
God, him and Cass are seriously cut from the same cloth. Talented and they know it, and they will make sure you know it too.
By the time Coach demands everyone get their asses back on the field, both guys are practically levitating, Ben with the excitement of meeting who’s apparently his idol and Cass with the satisfaction and entirely unnecessary ego-boost that comes with being idolized.
“I like him,” Cass declares, watching Ben run off with a look I can only describe as fatherly pride.
I snort. “Five seconds ago, you were threatened.”
“I was not.”
Cass rolls his eyes. “If anything, he reminds me of me.”
“Obnoxiously self-confident?”
A fist meets my shoulder. “Incredibly fucking talented, thank you very much.”
“I agree,” a rough voice chimes in, and I glance aside to find Coach has joined our conversation. The older man’s gaze flits between us and Ben, the Yankees cap with a permanent place on his head briefly lifted so he can scrape a hand through salt-and-pepper hair. “I want him on this team.”
Just like I thought; the kid’s already in.
“You two are gonna keep an eye on him,” Coach commands, doesn’t ask, and we both nod without hesitation—I don’t think anyone has ever argued with Coach Daire Kelly and lived to tell the tale. “Show him the ropes. Make him feel comfortable. If he’s not on that field come February, I will hold you both personally responsible.”
A hard look follows his words, and neither of us get a chance to reply before he’s striding away, hands clapping loudly and a slew of barked orders leaving him.
Hand lifting in a mock salute, Cass huffs an amused yet confused breath. “Did he just give us custody of a seventeen-year-old?”
Raking my hands through shoulder-length hair, I let out a chuckle of my own. “I think he did.”
* * *
I imagine that when Coach trusted us with taking care of his new favorite player, he didn’t anticipate us taking him to a grimy, gritty bar frequented by every student on campus.
Well, almost every student—when I sayus, I meanme, since Cass was banned from the establishment within weeks of starting freshman year.
