7. Ford
FORD
Closing my laptop, I rub my tired eyes. If I have to look at one more equation, I might blow my brains out just to stop the pounding in my skull.
This class is kicking my ass. Or maybe it’s my schedule.
Or maybe it’s Jagger, who won’t get off my ass after we shelled out way more than we should’ve after last week’s game.
I’m not sure it matters. All I know is that the rest of my assignment will have to wait until tomorrow.
Despite June’s initial impression of me, most people around here look at me like I’m the smart one of the group.
And maybe I am, but it isn’t effortless.
Nah, I spend more hours studying than both my brothers combined.
It’s official, though. My brain feels like it’s been shoved into a blender.
Pulling out my phone, I check the time. If I hurry, I can swing by The Bean Scene before it closes, grab some caffeine, then squeeze in another hour of studying until I meet up with Jagger, Hawke, and Rome at the court.
With my hands over my head, I stretch my back, grab my things from the library’s table that’s been my home for the last three hours, then head outside.
Harden Heights University’s grounds are like most college campuses.
Green grass when it isn’t winter. Tall trees, though most are missing their leaves.
Pathways leading from one building to the next, each lined with benches for students to stop and relax between classes.
One of my regulars sits on one. Cody Marshall.
Phone in hand, his elbows on his knees, his thumbs flying across the screen.
Did I forget we were supposed to meet up?
Fuck, I must’ve. He’s at our usual spot whenever he wants to put some money on a game.
I search my memory for the last bet Cody placed.
It’s been at least a couple of weeks. There are a handful of games tonight.
We’ve got the NFL, NCAA, NBA, and NHL to name a few.
He must’ve been paid recently and wants to put some money down.
I’ve been a bookie for a while now. Something about the odds, the numbers, the highs and lows that come with every wager. It’s a heady concoction. Professional sports are more predictable than the bets we take for Harden Nights. More stats to take into account when creating the betting lines.
I can’t believe I forgot. How the hell did I forget? I take a step closer but stop short when someone else approaches and sits on the bench beside Cody.
You’ve gotta be shitting me.
Ethan. Fucking. Morgan.
Knuckles white, I squeeze the edge of my laptop hanging at my side.
What the hell is Morgan doing here? He doesn’t attend HHU.
Yet here he is. On the quad—my fucking quad—like he owns it.
The combination makes my already scrambled brain short-circuit as I try to piece together what a not-so-small part of me already knows.
He’s here to take a bet. It’s like a trainwreck happening in slow motion, but I can’t look away.
Can’t keep my ass walking. Not that I want to.
Nah, if the asshole’s gonna do what I know he’s doing, I’m sticking around to survey every minute detail.
Morgan says something to my client, though I’m too far away to hear him.
Seconds later, Cody digs into his backpack, retrieving…
something. I don’t need to see it to know what it is.
Two Benjamins. It’s the same thing he’s handed to me more times than I can count since we started doing business together.
I’m not a dumbass. I knew Ethan had started taking bets, but not here. Not in Harden territory. Never in Harden territory.
What the actual fuck?
My jaw locks as I stride closer. If Cody’s stabbing me in the back on my own grounds, there’s no way I’m going to make it easy for him.
“Hey, Cody,” I greet him.
The man’s face turns into a sheet of white. “O-oh, hey, Ford—”
“What’re you doin’?” I ask with a smirk.
Not to put him at ease, but to remind him who I am.
I’m not threatened. The feeling itself is so far beneath me, I don’t even know the meaning of the word.
This is Harden Heights. The only thing missing is my fucking crown to prove I own this town. It’s best he remembers it, too.
Ethan looks up at me. Not surprised. Not guilty. Nah, I have a feeling this is going down exactly how he wants.
“Hey, Ford,” he greets me.
His nonchalance leaves ashes on my tongue, but I keep my expression in check, well aware of the importance of this interaction and how I need to play it.
“Ethan,” I return with the same arrogant grin as I look him up and down. “I know our town’s shelter has a pretty good program for strays, but you’re a little far from home, aren’t you?”
“Thought I’d grab a coffee.”
“And a bet or two, am I right?” My attention flicks to Cody. Sweat beads along his forehead despite the cooler weather, and I cross my arms. “Making another wager, huh?”
Yeah, motherfucker. You screwed up.
“Well, I, uh, I was thinking…”
“By all means,” I wave my hand toward him and Ethan. “If you want to make a bad gamble, I won’t stop you.”
“B-bad?” Cody stumbles out.
My smirk widens. “I mean, you know how this works, don’t you, Cody? The way the odds are stacked and how we calculate the numbers for payouts?” I shift closer, crowding him on the bench. “Honestly, it’s pretty complicated, but good for you. Trusting a guy like Ethan to know what he’s doing.”
“Step away, Harden,” Morgan warns. “Your brother’s not here to protect your ass.”
I run my tongue along my upper teeth. I could always use my laptop to bitch slap this asshole.
It would sure as hell wipe the smug look off his face.
Odds are, I'd get my point across pretty quickly. Jagger might be the one who likes fighting in the ring, but it doesn’t mean I don’t know how to hold my own.
There’d be a witness, though. And cameras.
Not that I couldn’t bribe the dean to make them disappear.
Nah. The biggest issue is Morgan’s blood ties to Gus.
I wonder how he’d react if I followed through with kicking his nephew's ass. I plaster on a giant grin. “Hey, I’m not stopping you. Just want to make sure your clients are fully aware of what they’re risking—”
Morgan pushes to his feet, but I hold my ground, leaving us nose to nose.
Looking at us from a distance, we probably look like lovers.
My grin stretches even more. “Don’t get me wrong, Morgan.
I’m all about love is love, but I don’t swing this way.
Thanks, though.” My attention shifts to Cody.
“Good luck, Cody. Really hope you don’t win too big.
If you do, you might have to wait a few weeks until Ethan can cover the spread.
” I tilt my head. “Unless you’re paying for a fuck, then—”
Ethan shoves my chest, but I barely budge, predicting the move from a mile away.
“Now, is that how you treat an ally, Morgan?” A short beat passes, but I step back, well aware that in another second or syllable, I’ll have pushed him too far, and we’ll wind up in a brawl in the middle of campus, which is the last thing I need, no matter how much I’d love to teach this asshole a lesson.
No, right now, I need to talk with my brothers.
Because if Ethan’s taking bets in Harden territory, whatever time we had for brainstorming is officially over.
We need something now. Before everything we’ve built evaporates into thin air.
“I’ll leave you to it. Goodbye, gentlemen.
” I take another step back and snap my fingers.
“And remember, protection is for more than preventing unwanted pregnancies, all right? STDs don’t discriminate.
” Then, I turn on my heel and walk away.
I keep my pace slow and unbothered, though I pay close attention to the sounds around me, confirming the only footsteps are my own.
When I finally round the corner toward the parking lot, I pull out my phone and dial Jagger.
“Yeah?” he answers.
“We have a problem.”
“What is it?” he demands.
“Are you home or at the court?”
“Still home.”
“What about Hawke and Rome?”
“We were going to leave in ten, so we could meet—”
“Stay where you are,” I order. “I’ll be there in five.”