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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Watching Kassidy leave the dining hall in hurried steps has my shoulders sagging in frustration. Saturday was a mistake, and I wish I could erase it all. It seems no matter what I do with this girl, I manage to fuck it up.
The entire campus is excited about the game today. Each person in my classes and in the hallway between classes wishes me luck. There is no doubt in my mind that the rest of the team is getting similar treatment.
It is my turn in the pitching rotation to start, adding extra pressure on me. This is what I live for though, only making me want to perform better on the field. The fact that we are also playing Grainfield tonight is only sweetening the deal. Having the opportunity to humiliate our rivals on our home turf makes it that much sweeter.
Classes are finally over today, and I start making my way to the field. Warm-ups begin soon, and my arm needs to be ready to go. Now, if I can push the Kassidy dilemma to the back of my mine in order to concentrate on the game, that would be great.
The locker room is buzzing with excitement. Each of us gets dressed in our home uniforms of black with green instead of our away game uniforms of green with black. Doing an abbreviationof my regular routine, so my ass can make it out to the field, I grab my glove and close my locker. Stepping out into the hallway and turning toward the tunnel that takes me to the field, my feet pause when my name is called from behind me.
“Adams, my office,” Coach Pollard yells, halting my progress.
Turning around, I hastily make my way to him, wondering what this is about, especially right before game time. Knocking on the open door, my hand pauses after the second knock, frozen. Once again, my father sits across from Coach at his desk. Both men look up at me at the noise of my knuckles against the glass window.
“Come in,” Coach says as he rises to his feet. He gives a brief nod to my father before leaving the room, closing the door behind him, leaving the two of us alone.
Father rises to his feet, straightening his suit jacket and pulling at the end of his cuffs.
“I understand that you have a girlfriend,” he sneers, letting the statement hang in the air.
“No.”
“That’s funny. I have it on good authority otherwise. What part of my instructions are you having trouble with Brock? You were told to bring your grades up to a ‘B’ average and to keep your dick in your pants,” he pauses, putting his hands in his pants pockets as he starts to pace around the small space.
“Not sure who you heard that from, but I most certainly do not have a girlfriend.” For some reason, stating it out loud angers me. Kassidy and I were only posing as boyfriend and girlfriend to chase off her sister. Something stirs within me, and the urge to see her, wanting to turn our “fake” relationship into a real one, is almost overwhelming.
“Are you listening to me, boy?” My father’s angry tone tells me that I missed something.
“Sorry, I am worried about the game today. I need to get to warm-ups. Is there anything else you want to berate me about before I take the field?” The anger in my voice is unmistakable, causing Father to narrow his eyes at me.
In for a penny, in for a pound, my concentration has already gone by the wayside. I might as well put it all out there and hope for the best.
“Father, regardless of your thoughts on the matter, I am twenty years old. If I decide to date or have a girlfriend, whatever you want to call it, I am going to. You don’t need to give your stamp of approval on the matter. Your opinion on women is crystal clear since you have been beating it into my head for over fifteen years. If this is how you were back then, it’s no wonder she left you.” With my departing words, I grab the doorknob and yank the door open, startling the eavesdroppers in the hallway.
Glaring at my nosy teammates, I storm past every single one of them. My father yells for my return, which I ignore. Making my way to the field, those already in the stands cheer as they see me. Closing my eyes, I use their enthusiasm to block out the past twenty or so minutes.
The day has dragged on. Last night’s performance was one of the worst I have had in a long time. My conversation, if that is what you want to call it, with my father broke my concentration. Thankfully, we still pulled out a win, no thanks to me. Coach Pollard kept giving me the side-eye, knowing the reason my head wasn’t in the game, but said nothing. He pulled me out in the fifth inning, giving the relief pitcher plenty of time to fix my mess.
Making my way to the library for my tutor session, Danica corners me just before I reach my designated study area.
“Hi, Brock,” she says, stepping into my path, preventing me from moving forward.
“Danica.” My words are clipped, no doubt able to be heard by Kassidy, assuming she is even willing to show up.
Stepping around Danica, I slip into our study space, thankful that Kassidy isn’t here yet. Unfortunately, Danica follows behind me.
“Aww, come on,” she says in what is supposed to be a seductive voice.
Taking two steps back as Danica reaches out to touch me, her brow wrinkles in confusion.
“What, are you going to go back to themouse?”
“Stopcallingher that,” I grind out between clenched teeth, avoiding her question. “We are done with this conversation. You and the Pussy Patrol are to stay away from Kassidy and me. Her and I are a couple, period. Get it through your head.”
Danica’s stunned expression tells me that she wasn’t expecting me to lash out like I did. Of course, it could also be from actually calling her and the girls by the name of Pussy Patrol. Not that it matters enough for me to care, but it has just now become a question that they might not know about the name they have all been given.
I can’t find it in me to feel guilty about it. Those girls have earned that moniker several times over.
