Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
KERIAN
I spent entirely too long this morning staring at the text on my phone.
Dimples: Morning. sleep good?
Thx… uh for you know
Last night
Yeah…have a good practice
Who the fuck sends good morning texts to the person who kicked you out after taking your virginity? Zander Braithe is like a goddamn alien.
It’s that stupid text and his expression when he orgasms that has my attention when a football hits me square in the chest.
“Fuck, Slade, pay attention. What’s wrong with you today?” My center, Drew Walters, sounds as annoyed as I feel, but I’m not going to let him know that.
I know what’s wrong with me.
Zander Braithe and his goddamn smile.
With a snarl, I pick up the ball and hurl it back at Walters, making him hiss and shake his hand out when he catches the bullet. “Why don’t you do your fucking job and get the ball in my hands next time, asshole?”
He takes his helmet off, closing the distance between us to get in my face. “I did my fucking job. Get your head out of the fucking clouds and do yours. Or do you want to hand our next game over to the other team? Keep practicing like that and that’s what will fucking happen.”
I jerk forward, grabbing the front of his jersey and slamming my helmeted forehead against his unprotected one. “Fucking talk to me like that again, Walters. See if you play another game.”
A snort from my left catches my attention. Easton Kirby is my defensive tackle, and he has a smirk on his face like he knows there’s something going on with me. I’m not that transparent and I know it, but I’m still willing to beat the shit out of him. I fucking hate the guy. I always have, because he’s always had a problem with me. I turn on him.
“Got something to say, bitch?” I ask, my fists curled at my sides.
I can feel something vicious swirling just beneath the surface, prickling my skin like a million tiny daggers and threatening to overtake me. This is the energy I promised I wouldn’t bring to the field with my team, because I know it could cost me everything.
Apparently, Easton sees it too. The anger bleeds out of his expression, replaced with a tinge of fear that he can’t quite hide behind a sneer of defiance. He moves back onto his side of the line, glancing at me every now and then to see if I’m still glaring at him.
“Whatever, Slade. Get your head in the game and stop fucking up.” Easton throws one more barb before turning and heading down the field.
I’m even more irritated because I know he’s right. I haven’t been able to focus, and I have to focus. I’m going to the NFL—nothing is going to stop me. Not my shitty parents trying to talk me out of football when I was younger because it was a dream that wouldn’t make my dad look good when I failed… and not their greedy fucking fingers gripping at my ankles now that they realize I’m going to make it .
And definitely not Zander Braithe and his stupid fucking smile, or his soft lips, or his little moans.
Besides, if I fuck up now, he’s going to be the one to go all the way and I’ll be… what? Left behind?
I don’t fucking think so. He’s not going anywhere that I’m not.
On the next snap, my hands close around the ball with ease. I drop back a few steps, spot my tight end, and let the ball fly. It would have been on the ESPN highlight reel if it was an actual game. The play was perfect. Everyone is in the right place when they need to be.
It’s this kind of shit that’s going to get me seen, noticed, get me to the future that’s mine for the taking.
Coach blows his whistle, a wide grin on his face. “That’s what I’m talking about, Slade. Excellent play. Now, run it again!” I reset my position, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I know the only reason I’m focusing right now is still because of Zander.
He’s fucking everything up.
I’m still seething when I shower off after practice, and I have full intentions of going back to my apartment when I’m done. I need to get out of my head. It’s obvious that whatever this obsession with Zander is, it’s not good , no matter how good his body feels. He’s under my skin in a way I’ve never let anyone get before.
He’s like an infection , a fever burning through me and stripping away my senses. He’s making me sick and I don’t know what to do about it.
I was soft with him last night. I’d meant to bring him to my apartment and fuck him silly, but I took care of him.
And fuck me, it felt good.
The thought makes my teeth clench, and I actually let out a grunt of frustration when I turn right instead of left.
For some reason, I was going to his damn school again instead of my apartment. I didn’t know where he was this time, and I didn’t want to show up at his dorm. But I couldn’t deny the fact that I needed to see him.
Maybe a part of me wanted to know if actually seeing him would make me realize that I’d fucked him out of my system.
But…
Shit, I’d called him mine, and it wasn’t like I wanted to take it back.
With a low groan, I pull my phone out. Next time I have him alone, I’m going to install a tracker on his so I can keep up with him. For now, I have to do this the old-fashioned way.
Thankfully, Zander is a social fucking butterfly. He posted a picture less than ten minutes ago at one of the off-campus diners. His face is warm and sweet, and it doesn’t look like he’s silently being tortured by the thought of me.
It doesn’t look like he’s thinking about me at all.
I don’t recognize the ugly feeling that flashes through my chest as I turn toward the diner in question and park in the lot beside it. I’ve had Zander in my car before, so I have to be a little more careful when I…
Fuck, I’m stalking him.
I want to watch him, to follow him, to see how he ticks and if anyone else makes his pupils blow wide and his body flush. I told him he was mine, but I’m not sure he really understood what he was agreeing to when he said yes.
I’m not sure I knew what I was asking, but apparently that doesn’t matter.
All that matters is the way irritation spikes through my chest when I see him sitting at a table with a bunch of guys I don’t recognize and a few I do from games. The big asshole he was hanging out with before is on his right, but I have no idea who the fucker on his left is. He keeps leaning against Zander’s shoulder and whispering shit in his ear, and every time it gets a smile out of Zander, something inside me twitches.
It’s not good—I know it’s not good, but the world around me narrows down to every single touch exchanged between the mystery guy and the man who I had spread out and begging for me on my bed last night.
The world narrows down to the way I see Zander lean away from the touch a few times, and the way the asshole just scoots closer.
It narrows down to a singular thought that I’m not going to be able to walk away from this clean, and I really need to get a hold of myself before I torch the world and everything I’ve been working for because my temper is getting the better of me.
I haven’t given in to rage since I was a teenager , but this…
Fuck, this feels so much stronger.
I need to get the fuck out of here before I do something I’ll regret. I need to get my phone out and text Zander to let him know that we’re finished. That I’m done with whatever this is that’s making me lose the careful, cool exterior I’ve been able to keep up my entire life.
I know I’m not a good person—I’ve never been a good person.
But I’ve always been able to control that lack of good .
Until now.
So it doesn’t matter what I need to do, because it means nothing in light of the anger rolling through my chest.
It was just a touch , a brush of a hand.
It was just a smile.
But fuck me, Zander kept moving away, and the asshole kept moving closer.
I follow the group as they round the corner, and figure out the guy’s name is Alec when someone from the group yells goodbye to him. Alec heads to his car, and a slow smile crosses my face when I realize he’s parked in the same lot as me.
That smile grows when he turns off campus, away from anything that might get me in trouble for what I’m going to end up doing. We don’t drive far before he pulls into the lot of an abandoned storefront, actually trailing his car around to the back parking area. I circle around to the store behind him to see what he’s doing.
I’m definitely the universe’s favorite, because I can tell what he’s here for by the way he looks around, by the money he pulls out of his pocket and starts counting with shaking fingers. He’s here to buy drugs, which means he’s in a spot made for not being seen. I was ready to follow him to his house.
I was ready to make this a lot worse for myself.
Instead, I watch as another man pulls into the lot, and they exchange a little baggie for the cash. Like he’s doing me an extra favor, Alec pops something from the bag he just paid for into his mouth and leans back against his car, closing his eyes.
This moment was literally made for me.
I pull my car into another abandoned lot a few stores over and yank my hood up, just in case someone sees me. It’s a quick jog from where I am to where he is, and he’s still alone when I round the corner of the building.
He doesn’t turn around until I’m right behind him, and then he’s scrambling for his car door, like he can tell from my posture alone that I’m not here for anything good.
It makes it even easier. I didn’t want to make my knuckles sore beating the shit out of him, so I throw my body forward against the door of his car, hearing a satisfying crunch as his fingers get caught.
“Fuck!” he screams, and a little lick of electricity shoots up my spine. It’s the same feeling that pulses through me when I win a game—the same excitement and adrenaline rush that makes me feel alive —and I can’t tell if it’s because I just broke the asshole’s hand, or because I broke the hand that touched something that belongs to me.
Either way, it feels good when I lean back and get space so I can kick the door hard enough to send a jolt up my leg.
Another crunch, and his body goes limp. I don’t know if he’s faking it, or if he fainted. I do know his hand pinned in the door stopped him from turning around, so he didn’t see my face.
I know he didn’t have his phone out, so there’s no way he got a picture or video of me either. Since this happened when he was doing something suspicious, I can almost guarantee he’s going to say it was some kind of freak accident when he goes in to get it checked out. He’s high on fuck-all knows what—he’s not going to file a report about getting assaulted.
And after a quick look around, I know there’s no one in this back lot to witness what I just did.
Alec’s hand is a bloody broken mess when I push my sleeve down to cover my fingers and pull open the door to make sure there isn’t a camera on his dash.
Nothing.
Nothing but Alec lying on the ground with broken fingers because the motherfucker thought he could touch Zander and make him smile the way he did.
I get back into my car and don’t stop driving until I’m back at my apartment. Once I stop, I pull out my phone and stare at the text Zander sent me again.
It’s been hours.
He probably thinks I’m ignoring him. But for some reason, I feel better about answering him now.
Me: How many times have you touched yourself thinking about last night, Dimples?
I hit send and hope he’s still with that group of assholes so they can watch the way I know he’s going to blush when he reads the text. My eyes flash to the mirror, and let out a small hiss when I see a little spatter of blood on my cheek.
I didn’t know fingers bled that much.
I wipe it off as my phone buzzes, and smirk when I look down.
Dimples: Fuck u Kerian
And then the fucker has the audacity to send me a gif of someone blowing a kiss before he answers.
Dimples: Twice