Chapter 16 Cal
I’d be the first to admit I didn’t always make the best decisions. Dodging Sasha’s kiss at Homecoming? Good. Doing it in front of everyone? Not so good. Dating her in the first place? Bad.
By the time the game had ended Friday night, I’d had a thousand messages from her, ranging in emotions from hatred to devastation. I’d ruined her life. I’d betrayed her.
I’d deleted most without reading them.
Then Jack had texted me, and sure, my fault for hoping it’d be something to take my mind off Sasha. It hadn’t been, and yet another bad decision was made. I shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on him.
In spite of that, we’d managed a friendly-adjacent conversation during our session with Trent. Then I’d taken a dump on it. I shouldn’t have told him there was nothing to talk about.
No matter how empty that hallway had seemed, ears were everywhere. Especially Trent’s. He’d probably had his pressed against the door, listening to every word, hoping he could call us out for actually getting along due to his influence.
It had hurt, okay? Jack’s snub at the festival on Thursday, then his second snub through texting as if everything was as right as rain. It wasn’t right. It so fucking wasn’t.
Bad decisions could be made on the best of days, and these days? Well, they weren’t great.
And when bad decisions got worse, apparently, they were called Tuesday.
Jack and I had two classes together, and you’d think it wouldn’t be that hard to control ourselves for them.
You’d be wrong.
I walked into our shared first period. He sat at his usual desk, arms crossed, closed off and pissy. Jack glanced at me, and in those stupidly short seconds as I made my way to my own desk, I conveyed what was in my head.
Like I said, new level of bad decision.
I agreed with him. We needed to talk. Even if that talk only admitted we’d been frustrated and the emotional outburst got slammed in the wrong direction. Or you know, admit it’d been insanely hot and I’d be down for a do-over that didn’t end with a punch to the gut.
So, yeah, too much to pack into a three-second eye-to-eye glare down, and I probably screamed serial killer instead of “Down to talk when you are.”
When my three seconds were up, Jack blinked his indifferent mask toward his go-to window, and I stumbled the last step, falling into my seat without his steady attention keeping me upright.
Then Sasha started in on me. Because of course I hadn’t gotten the message loud and clear already. Stopping her from kissing me for the yearbook photo ruined her once-in-a-lifetime-epic-moment-she’d-never-have-anything-like-again.
“Everyone thinks we broke up because of that stunt you pulled at Homecoming,” she whispered, somehow smiling and sneering at the same time.
“We did break up,” I whispered right back.
She hissed through her teeth like a snake.
“Look,” I whispered, leaning closer to keep it our business. “You know I wasn’t sayin’ shit, so it’s on you for tryin’ to kiss me.”
If she wanted to define the rest of her life around high school, I felt sorry for her. But only a little since she kept making remarks about my dick having issues. And you know, being completely delusional about us still dating.
How many more ways could I say it?
No hay un nosotros, Sasha.
Il n’y a pas de nous, Sasha.
Two years of Spanish and one semester of elective French weren’t enough either.
There is no us, Sasha.
When class ended, she left in a huff, swishing her long hair like a whip against me as she grabbed the nearest girl by the arm and stomped out of the room.
But that wasn’t the end. Nope.
As I walked through the row of desks to leave, Jack stepped out at the last second. He slung his bag over his shoulder, not only catching me off guard but clipping me with it.
I snapped, rising to defend myself as I should’ve with Sasha long before now.
“Watch it,” I barked.
Jack turned, his indifferent expression faltering for a second, confusing the situation even more, before he shut it down.
“Looks like you’re doing enough watching for the both of us,” he snarked.
“Huh?”
“Oh, that’s right.” Jack patted my shoulder and grinned, all sinister and sexy. “Forgot you have trouble talking.”
“No, that’s not—” I cut myself off because we weren’t in the right place for that discussion.
Jack chuffed a vicious laugh and stepped back. I hated the distance, even stepped forward to stop it from stretching any farther.
“Disappointing, Winters. After all this time, I thought you’d get better at slamming me.”
Obviously, he’d gotten better.
I sputtered for a response as slamming him into those dusty shelves in the basement came to mind. That and the kiss that followed. I couldn’t think of anything else, and he kept backing up as I advanced. Something sparked in his eyes, and that cocky grin of his grew.
“Just keep looking since that’s all you got.”
Jack spun and marched out of the room. I raced after him, but in the hallway, he was shoulder to shoulder with Ty and getting farther from me. I stood there as he was swallowed by the crowd of other students, and never came up with anything to say.
All of that confusion and missed opportunity led me here. Still fucking Tuesday, and yet another bad decision.
Jack’s soccer game.
Oh, yeah, I’d made this call before, but since it was Tuesday, it had to be even worse.
Jack’s away soccer game.
The moment I stepped toward the field, the exact level of bad decision hit me like a truck. A very big truck on an empty street I should’ve been able to avoid.
FC games weren’t like those played at high schools.
There were no bleachers. There were no home and away sides.
No, I stood right on the fucking sidelines, completely visible.
No fans or parents to blend in with, but my slow-witted brain had decided to claim it.
I was watching all right, just as Jack had accused. Call me a psycho.
He’d told me once not to go to his games, and since I couldn’t think of anything to say, I came to his game to fuck with him. So how in the hell had he turned this around on me? Maybe it’d been his intent all along. Get me mad enough so I’d do something stupid and he could call me out on it.
Well, it worked.
More than once, I nearly left, just admitted defeat and went home, but that would’ve been even more obvious that I’d fucked this up.
Jack saw me. How could he not? During his warm-up, he locked eyes on me, slowing as he ran off the field. In that singular moment, I was vindicated. My presence got to him. Then I stood there while he completely ignored me for the rest of his game.
At the end of it—and they won, of course—he smiled at his team in one of those rare moments he shared it with the world.
I ducked my head and skulked off. This was awkward. I didn’t like that he used that smile on others. I didn’t want to see it happen either. I shouldn’t be here.
All the rotten things Sasha and my parents had spewed or implied came to mind.
Me failing, me being ballless, me being screwed up, pathetic, juvenile, weak, a troublemaker, useless, disappointing.
They landed on my shoulders and twisted around my neck as I tucked tail and practically ran for my truck.
I had no right to his smiles, and he certainly didn’t want me to have them.
Only … when I pulled my phone from my pocket and tossed it into a cup holder, a little blue light of hope blinked.
Princess
Stalker.
I didn’t answer.
But I grinned.
Daddy and Cara were home by the time I got there. I ran to my room, closing the door behind me, then closed the door to my bathroom and turned the vent and the shower on.
The ever-present shit with my family, with expectations, swirled in my head, but it all dulled behind thoughts about Jack.
The kiss, our fights, how he messed me up in the head, and watching him play.
His body was nearly poetic out there on the field.
Graceful, purposeful, as he showed off his athleticism.
Never in my life had I thought about an athletic guy the way I did Jack.
The bursts of power, the flexing muscles, the stamina, the agility.
Watching Jack was like appreciating art or something.
But also, his sweaty hair as it flopped around his head, the red in his cheeks when he got overheated, wet marks on his uniform that molded it to him, all led to thoughts of me touching each of them.
Steam filled the room, and I yanked my shirt off, then flipped through videos on my phone.
Guys jerking off alone, with others, guys kissing, rimming each other, fucking …
My insides clenched at the sights, but my heart raced and heat bloomed under my skin when I thought of doing these things with Jack.
Was he gay?
Was I gay?
I didn’t not like girls, but none of them had affected me as strongly as Jack was now.
Bi, maybe? Or hell, did I need a label? I liked what I liked.
Images of Jack as he rushed me, surprising me with that kiss, morphed into others with him smiling, scowling, his teasing eyes, and that barely there grin, and they were all I needed. I jerked off with a soapy hand under the spray for a much-needed reset in my balls.
The next day in first period, I forced my eyes to stay on the ground until I was safely in my seat. I decided not to be embarrassed about going to his game. Jack wasn’t the type to call me out publicly for it, and if he did in private, I’d enjoy it, knowing I got under his skin.
“Why couldn’t I get in touch with you last night?” Sasha asked.
Because you don’t need to get in touch with me. I reached into my pocket and turned my phone on. “Shut it off,” I said, not explaining shit. She hadn’t listened the first twenty times I’d told her we were over, to stop texting me. Why would she now?
Notifications flashed, and I quickly shoved it back into my jeans before Sasha saw something I didn’t want her to. Something from Jack.
“Why? Who were you with?” When I didn’t answer, she pinched my side with her long nails.
“Ow, shit.”
Jack glared over his shoulder in our direction.
Sasha tried to pinch me again since I still hadn’t answered, and I swatted her hand away. “Would you stop? I wasn’t with anyone. Jesus.”
“Don’t manhandle me, Calvin Winters,” Sasha said loud enough for the class to hear.
“I didn’t …”
Sasha rubbed her wrist, and that moment in my truck came rushing back. She was a tiny thing, but I hadn’t touched her any harder than I would’ve Cara.
I leaned closer, and her eyes lit up. “Stop,” I whispered. “I dunno if you’re acting like we’re together because you don’t want anyone to know we broke up, but stop touching me, okay?”
She didn’t acknowledge my words in any way, nor did she heed them.
I checked the messages during class, angling myself so Sasha couldn’t read my screen, but she sure as shit tried. Practically climbed onto my lap before the teacher called her out on it.
His message was from this morning. Our normal Wednesday check-in that I’d missed.
Princess
I like the movie Fear. Mark Wahlberg plays a stalker.
Stalkers. Right. Clearly, he wasn’t leaving me alone like I’d said in my last text to him, nor going to let me forget he caught me at his game.
Again with the stalker?
Obsession is a good look on you.
Jack checked his phone right after I hit Send, didn’t glance my way, just casually stuffed it back in his pocket.
I gave him an inch, and he gave me fucking indifference.
The rest of the day was shit. Trent had to leave school early for reasons, and our session, the guaranteed hour I could spend with Jack, was canceled.
Sasha acted as if she were one ignored text away from pissing on my leg and marking her territory.
Jack wouldn’t look at me. The end of football season was nearing, and we felt it in practice.
Momma called to cancel our family dinner that weekend, and Cara and I had to listen to Daddy bitching about her lack of consideration for anyone else’s schedule.
God, I was so over this week.
Then Friday came.
I hadn’t expected much more than the shit I’d been dished all week.
So imagine my surprise when I ran off field during our away game and none other than Jack Rutledge sat in our stands.
Our games, home or away, drew more fans in the bleachers than the soccer team ever would, but he sat off to the side, as if he wanted to make sure I saw him.
I waved.
I didn’t know why I did. I’d never done anything like that before. And when he gave me the finger in return, I grinned.
So we both were obsessed stalkers now. Good to know.