Prologue #2
His gaze dipped to that perfect ass, wondering what it would look like without anything covering it. Jude looked over his shoulder with that one gorgeous green eye shooting daggers his way.
After class, Jude leapt from his chair and ran out of the classroom.
Smart.
Rick followed suit, but Foster put himself between them.
“Let it go.”
Rick growled at Foster and shoved past, but he didn’t race toward Jude, which was a minor miracle.
“Ah, Foster?”
Foster spun to find Mr. Lattimer outside the door.
“Upon reflection, I’m not punishing you. You don’t need to do detention.”
“Thanks,” Foster replied.
“Thank the boosters who would’ve been up my ass if I had taken their star quarterback out of practice for a week.”
Or maybe I didn’t do anything to deserve it.
Lattimer spun and welcomed students entering his door. Foster turned and headed toward second period. A few doors down, someone hooked his arm and dragged him into an empty classroom.
Rick and Aaron were both fighting laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
Rick pulled a small bag full of weed from his pocket.
“Put that away,” Foster growled, looking over his shoulder at the door. “Jesus Christ, man.”
“You’re such a tight ass,” Rick said. He opened the bag and took a whiff. “This shit’s half stem, but there’s enough for some fun thanks to Judith.”
“Jude?”
Rick lifted his gaze. “He dropped it when we were fighting. Aaron was able to swipe it before anyone saw. That’ll show Judith for suggesting I’m a homo.”
“Well, you did call him that first,” Foster muttered.
Rick closed the bag and shoved it in his jeans pocket. “Whatever. He’s a loser. I don’t know why you bothered putting that pretty face between my fist and his head.”
“You keep fighting and you’ll end up kicked off the team,” Foster said, which in that moment didn’t seem like such a loss.
But Rick was their best running back and if they wanted to continue their winning season, they needed the guy eligible to play.
He pointed to Rick’s pocket. “Which is what you’ll end up with that. ”
“Only if I’m caught.” Rick patted his pocket. “You’re not going to narc on me, are you?”
Wish I could. “No,” Foster said, sighing.
“Judith isn’t going to say anything because he’d have to admit the pot was his. So we’re golden. Come over to my house after practice and we can give thanks to the fag—and his pot.”
“Stop calling him that,” Foster said.
“Do you have a soft spot for Judith? Do you want him to suck your dick?”
“Why are you like this?” Foster asked before slipping back into the hallway, his stomach twisted by the questions.
Or maybe it was the visuals they had just given him.
At the end of the day, Jude raced down the hallway, keeping to himself until he could push through an outer door into the courtyard. Fuck detention. He wasn’t going. Jude smiled as he approached his motley assortment of friends waiting for him on one of the crumbling picnic tables outside.
“Thank god,” Mia said, climbing off the top of the picnic table to give him a hug and a peck on the cheek. “Let’s get the fuck out of this shithole.”
Anton, Paula, and Roan slowly rose and pulled on their backpacks before they marched toward the parking lot and Jude’s beater parked there.
Mia held out her hand to Jude. “Gimme the bag.”
“Can’t you wait until we’re off campus?” Jude asked, glancing around.
“No. It’s been a shitty day, and I don’t want to remember it tomorrow,” Mia said. She pushed her hand closer, insistent. “Gimme the bag.”
Jude reached into his zippered pocket but came up empty.
He searched another and came to a halt when he found that one empty, too.
Standing in the middle of the parking lot, he searched every single one of his many, many zippers, but found nothing.
After a dig through his backpack, he came to the conclusion the weed was gone.
Fuck.
“Don’t tell me you lost it?” Mia asked, her eyes wide.
“There’s no way I lost it,” Jude murmured, checking the pocket he was sure he’d put it in again. He replayed the day in his head—and the fight came to mind. Had it fallen out of his pocket somehow?
He’d have seen it on the floor, though. Wouldn’t he?
Unless someone else snatched it.
He closed his eyes and groaned.
Rick.
Jude seethed thinking of that guy taking it.
Fucking Rick. He wanted to smash the motherfucker’s face in.
He turned toward the football field where the team was running out to begin practice.
They’d be busy for a couple of hours, at least, right?
It was probably sitting in the locker room, unattended.
“I think I know where it might be.” He tossed his keys to Mia.
“Get in, but don’t you fucking drive it. ”
“Chill,” Mia said.
He grabbed Roan by the arm and pulled him a few feet away. “Can you come with me and break into a locker or two?”
“You know if I’m caught again I’ll be expelled,” Roan said.
“I’ll take the heat if we’re caught. I’ll say I did it and you weren’t a part of it.”
Roan shook his head. “No way they’d believe that. If I get expelled, my dad’s threatened military school. Again.” He dug into his bag and came out a few seconds later with a key.
“What’s that?”
“The janitor’s master locker key,” Roan said, a smile stretching across his face.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jude asked, swiping it. “You stole his key?”
“Made a copy,” Roan whispered. “Just in case.”
“I seriously worry about you and your future, man,” Jude said. “I promise I’ll visit you in prison.”
Jude shook his head at Roan’s wicked grin before he bolted across the parking lot.
Hiding himself by walking behind the bleachers, he slipped into the hallway that led to the team’s locker room.
As soon as he walked in, he cringed and held his breath.
With its smell of mildew and jock itch, he couldn’t imagine spending any time there.
He hadn’t taken a gym class since sophomore year when it was mandatory, and he didn’t miss that odor at all.
Besides, hefting hundreds of pounds of animal carcasses in his dad’s butcher shop on the weekends was enough of a workout for him.
He scanned the inside of the locker room and didn’t see anyone around.
As quietly as he could, he opened one of the lockers and peeked into a backpack to see who’s it was.
Not Rick’s, so he closed it and moved on.
On the fourth locker, he found Foster Price’s stuff.
Foster and Rick were pals, so there was a possibility the guy was holding.
Jude dragged out Foster’s backpack and rummaged through it, looking for the baggy.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Jude spun, face-to-face with Foster Price.
He stood there silent a few seconds, trying to ignore the racing of his heart and what caused it.
It wasn’t being caught. Nope. Foster was in his practice gear—a cut off white t-shirt over his pads that showed off his abs and the sprouting hair climbing up from under the waistband of his near see-through pants.
Lower, he could see a jockstrap through the thin material and the outline of a cup.
Lifting his gaze to Foster’s, he noticed a glint in the guy’s eye.
“I thought you were supposed to be in detention?” Jude asked.
“Same could be said about you,” Foster replied.
Tension coiled between them.
“I know you or Rick took something of mine. I want it back.”
Foster marched forward, ripping his backpack from Jude’s hands. “I didn’t take your shit.” He shoved his bag back into his locker before spinning to glare at Jude. “Get the fuck out of here.”
“Or what?” Jude asked, lifting his chin defiantly.
Foster took a step closer. “You don’t belong in here.”
“You’re one thousand percent right about that. So give me what was stolen from me, and I’m gone.”
“I don’t have anything of yours,” Foster muttered.
He searched Foster’s face a couple of seconds. “But Rick does?”
Foster wouldn’t look him in the eye.
Jude went to the locker beside Foster’s and inserted the key. “No worries. I’ll find it.”
“How did you open that?”
“None of your business,” Jude said, reaching into the books, looking to see who’s stuff it was.
“You need to get out of here before someone sees you,” Foster whispered. “I can’t save you from the entire team.”
Jude whipped around to face Foster. “Who asked you to save me?”
Foster slammed the locker closed and pushed himself between Jude and the next. “Just go. If that bag ends up gone, he might figure out it was you. He’ll be an even bigger dick tomorrow and you know it.”
“Rick can be mad all he wants. It’s not his,” Jude said. He shoved Foster’s chest. “Get out of my way.”
Foster didn’t budge.
Frustration raged inside Jude. The years of abuse and bullying came out as a primal scream.
He punched Foster in the chin, letting out all the bottled-up indignation he’d suffered at the hands of too many bullies.
After he got in another punch, Foster shoved him against the row of lockers behind them.
He shoved Foster’s chest, trying to get the guy off him, but he wasn’t strong enough.
Foster snagged both of Jude’s wrists and yanked them over his head.
Jude stared up at Foster, the wind knocked from his lungs.
Foster shoved his body closer, pinning Jude there.
They glared at one another, breathing hard from the struggle. Jude sensed Foster’s mouth getting closer, but he was sure it was just a figment of his imagination. He didn’t like to admit it, but Foster Price had featured in a few fantasies over the years.
Why wouldn’t he? Foster was utter perfection. Dirty blond hair, ice blue eyes, and the body of an eighteen-year-old god.
As the seconds ticked by, neither of them moved… neither of them said a word… and the friction mounted. They stared at one another in silence, breathing roughly.
Foster moved a bit closer.
It wasn’t Jude’s imagination.
Oh shit… oh shit… this is really happening…