15. Cameron
FIFTEEN
cameron
It’s hotter than it should be for fall, and sweat spills down my forehead. Maybe it’s the weather that has me off my game today, but nothing is going the way I want on the practice field.
Our offense is installing new plays this week and so far, I’ve messed up every one. First, I run the wrong route and cause an interception that has our offensive coordinator shaking his head. Then I’m wide open on a post route, and I drop the perfect pass from Reeve. I can just feel Mason smirking from the sidelines.
After, I take my time in the shower, hoping most of the guys will have cleared out of the locker room. I’m not in the mood to hear talk about the upcoming Reynolds game.
Unfortunately, Mason is one of the few left when I come out. He’s staring at his shirtless self in the mirror, but his attention shifts to me, and I can tell he’s weighing whether it’s worth giving me more shit. Because he has more balls than brains, he speaks up.
“Lookin’ a little creaky out there, huh, Forrester? Sad to think you peaked sophomore year.”
Coming from almost anyone else on the team, it might have meant something, but Mason is such a worthless little nothing I can’t be bothered to get riled up. “Almost as sad as watching you try to flex in the mirror,” I say, opening my locker.
He walks over as I start getting dressed. “I noticed your game is off ever since you got dumped by the hottest chick at Shafer. Was that your secret all along? No more superpowers without that sweet pussy?”
I slam my locker door harder than I mean to. My feelings for Kira are long gone, but I can’t stand when girlfriends and exes get dragged into this bullshit. “You know what would be great? If you could put on a shirt and scuttle back to your own locker. Thanks.”
Mason laughs. “Hit a nerve, huh?”
“Nah, Connery, I’m just a little sad for you, that’s all.”
“Sad?” He sneers.
“Hearing you try to talk about pussy reminds me you’ve never had a girl give you the time of day unless she was too drunk to speak.” I take a step toward him. He doesn’t flinch, but I catch the flash in his eyes.
“All right, all right, chill.” He laughs, trying to play it off like he’s not a punk who’s worried I might beat his ass. “Think I haven’t seen just as much pussy as you have? Let me prove it.”
“Don’t.” I turn my back to him and rub a towel through my hair, but before I realize what he’s doing, his phone screen is in my face and I’m looking at a picture of a naked girl on a bed. Not a professional photo or some Insta-model pic, but a regular girl, asleep or passed out. I knock his arm away, but it’s too late; despite the fact the photo’s dark and underexposed and I only look for a second, I think I know who the girl is. “Get that shit out of here,” I snap.
Mason is grinning like the creep that he is. “Come on, don’t be such a boy scout, dude.”
I don’t know what annoys me more, that he took the picture or that he actually thought I’d be impressed. “Why would you show that to me?”
“Because you’re a dude. At least I thought so.”
I throw my towel down. “You’re even stupider than you look, Connery.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because you just showed something illegal to your team captain. The team captain who can’t stand you.”
His smile wavers. “How is that illegal?”
“I’m guessing you don’t have written consent from that girl to show her nudes in public, right? That makes it illegal, dumbass.” Actually, I’m bluffing. I don’t know a thing about the legality of it, but common sense tells me the law isn’t cool with this kind of shit.
“Chill,” Mason says, but his casual tone sounds forced. “It’s an innocent picture. I’m not gonna go posting it or anything.”
I honestly hate this kid. “Delete it,” I order him.
“You don’t know that I don’t have her permission. Maybe she likes the whole team seeing her titties.”
“I know the last thing that girl wants is any proof she slept with you. Delete it for your own sake, you stupid asshole.”
“Fine.”
I watch him delete it. “Now from your recently deleted folder.”
He rolls his eyes. I feel like such a dad right now.
“Delete it,” I say again, getting in his face a little.
“Delete what?” comes Reeve’s voice behind me.
I look over my shoulder to find him watching us. Great. I thought he’d left. Now we have a bigger problem. I’m pretty sure the girl in the picture is Sasha James, one of the chicks Reeve occasionally hooks up with. And even though his hookups are strictly no strings attached, he wouldn’t take kindly to finding out Mason Connery slept with Sasha too.
In the few seconds it takes for Reeve to reach us, Mason and I have a little stare down. He gives me a tiny nod.
“Nothing,” I tell Reeve, who’s looking at Mason like he knows something’s up. “It’s nothing.”
Reeve looks between me and Mason. “Good. Then move, Connery. You’re blocking my locker.” He gives Mason a little shove.
Mason says nothing—a first—and moves back to his own locker. I watch him from the corner of my eye as he fiddles on his phone, then glances at me and mouths the word done .
I just shake my head.
“You want to get dinner, or are you hitting the books tonight?” Reeve asks, shutting his locker.
“I should study. My ethics class is kicking my ass,” I say as we head out. “But if you’re not going out tonight, let’s catch the game at nine.”
“Yeah, I’ll be home. See you then.”
I head toward the library, even though the last thing I want to do is study. A beer in front of a baseball game sounds like a much better way to end this day, preferably in a crowded bar where it’s too loud to think. I need to stay focused on improving my game, not on Connery and his antics, and definitely not on Lenni, who refuses to get out of my mind.
Her flirtation with Reeve aside, the interview made one thing clear: she’s exactly the girl I remember. Despite the entire interview being about football, it’s obvious that if I’m going to impress her, it won’t have anything to do with my on-field performance. I forgot how easy she was to talk to, and how that feeling of connecting with her, even over our dads, gets in deep and sits with me for a long time.
Too bad she has to look as good as she does, otherwise she could be a friend. But sitting across from her yesterday, watching her bite those heart-shaped lips every time I said something she didn’t know what to make of, I couldn’t stop thinking about what she tastes like or what it might be like to make her moan.
Of course, going after her would be complicated. Messy. The kind of risk I don’t usually take with girls. I remind myself of that as I walk by the building that holds the newsroom. I glance at the time—almost seven thirty. I’m pretty sure she’s still in there; she told me she stays until at least eight on Wednesdays.
I hesitate. The idea of seeing Lenni soothes that ball of frustration that’s been sitting in my stomach since practice. Suddenly I’m craving her. I put my bag down on one of the little umbrella-covered tables across from the main doors to the building and sit down. To hell with complicated and messy. I want her.