You have got to be fucking kidding me. Kimmy and Mandy, or whatever the hell their names are, think they have a say in my dating life. It would be funny if it wasn’t so damn annoying. I glance up to see Chance making her escape with a smirk on her face, and I shake my head. She could have stuck around and helped ward the crazy bitches off.
Isn’t that what girlfriends are supposed to do? Maybe I shouldn’t have told her not to be all jealous and shit the other night? A jealous or possessive girlfriend might have come in handy right about now.
I raise a brow at the one with glassy eyes, ugh, don’t fucking cry. I hate it when they cry. “Look, it’s nothing personal, I just don’t like you, Teagan. We had a few good times together but that’s all it ever was. I made that pretty damn clear.”
The pending tears disappear, “Who the hell is Teagan?” she yells.
I frown, “Ah, you?”
Her face reddens and I take a step back, hoping she won’t, but knowing she will. Her tiny hand swings back before connecting with my cheek with a resounding slap. I’m pretty sure it hurt her hand more than my face, because she’s now clutching it to her chest as her tears from earlier spill over.
“Feel better?” I ask her, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
She sniffles, then takes a step closer to me, seeking comfort. I don’t fucking think so. Holding my hands out in front of me, I ward her away when she tries wrapping her arms around me, “What are you doing?”
Biting on her bottom lip in an attempt to make me feel sorry for her, she reaches for me, “Why are you doing this?” she whines, “We’re good together, Carter.”
I close my eyes and drop my head back to the ceiling, “Give me strength,” I mutter to God or any deity who might be listening to my plea. Taking a deep breath, I look back down at the girl pretending I mean the world to her, which I know is total bullshit because she doesn’t even know me.
“Carter, please, give us a chance,” she sobs, stepping closer to me again.
Shaking my head at her, I wonder what the hell I was thinking fucking around with chicks like this. I mean, I don’t even remember this one’s name, that’s how memorable she is to me, yet she’s acting like we had an entire relationship and I’m breaking her heart.
Wrapping my fingers over her shoulders to keep her at arm’s length, I hunch down to look her in the eyes, “There is no us. There never was. There never will be. I made that clear from the start, you agreed. Now walk away,” I tell her, then pat her on the head and turn my back on her, walking away.
I hate this shit. Most of the chicks I’ve messed around with in the past are cool with the arrangement. But every now and then I misjudge my companion, and when things end, out come the water works and pleas for something more. Some are harder to shake than others, and from the outraged shriek that follows me down the hall, I get the feeling that she’s definitely one of those.
Dealing with her crazy arse at lunch has drained my tolerance levels drastically. I cannot deal with any more drama today, and apart from a few side eyes I get from Scout during English Lit, and the occasional scowl from random ballergirls, my afternoon classes are uneventful. Thank fuck.
Making my way to the locker room after being dismissed from my final class of the day, I catch sight of Chance on her way to the car park and jog to catch up with her, “Hey, traitor,” I call after her.
She glances over her shoulder when she hears me and slows her pace. When I catch up she smirks, her hand gently resting on her chest like a southern bell, “Who, me?” with false innocence, “Have fun with B1 and B2 today?” she laughs.
I narrow my eyes on her, “Yeah, thanks for running away like a little bitch,” I wrap my arm around her shoulders and match her slowed pace, then ask, “Who’s B1 and B2?”
She snickers, “I heard them having a whinge about you in the bathroom when I ducked in to pee, before I ran into your handsy friend. Anyway, it was easier to nickname them B1 and B2 than trying to remember their names. Bimbo one and Bimbo two, or B1 and B2, as I prefer.”
I smile down at her, “You’re so fucking weird. But I like it,” I tell her and drop a kiss to the top of her head, because I can’t not kiss her right now. She’s the most honest chick I’ve ever spent time with, except Bella, but I don’t think Bella even knows how to be anything but brutally truthful.
Chance grins back at me, “What can I say? It’s part of my natural born charm.”
Squeezing my arm a little tighter around her shoulder, I pull her further into me as we walk. When we reach her car, she stops and leans back against the side of it giving me the opportunity to look at her outfit of choice today. Unicorns, of course she likes unicorns. And I’m beginning to realise that she really is filterless, just like her shirt proclaims.
She looks down at herself then back to my face, “What?” she questions with an arched brow.
I step closer to her, closing the small amount of space between our bodies, and lean into her. My fingers glide over the soft skin of her cheek, to her plump lips, “I was just thinking that this shirt really suits you. But it would look even better on the floor.”
A soft chuckle leaves her lips, “Loser,” she mutters but her breathing quickens when I run the pad of my thumb across her bottom lip, dragging it down slightly before closing the last bit of space between our mouths and kissing her softly. I lick her lips in feather light sweeps of my tongue, savouring her taste for a moment then increasing the pressure, and she opens for me on a quiet, barely audible sigh.
Eventually, I break away from her captivating mouth, “I’ve been thinking about those lips all day,” I tell her, cupping her cheeks in my palms.
A shy smile lifts her lips, “I’ve been thinking about you a lot these last couple of days. I don’t know why, but I can’t shake you, Carter.”
I grin, “Good, I don’t want you to.” I want to say more, but that’s when I hear Mase’s annoying voice booming from across the parking lot. I lift my head more and look over my shoulder to him.
He’s walking toward us, carrying my practice jersey and both our duffels, “Coach is going to chew your arse out if we’re late again, bro,” he throws my clothes at me when he’s close enough, “S’up C.C.,” he says, with a nod to Chance.
Chance eyes him cautiously, “That’s not my name,” she tells him and crosses her arms over her chest in a defensive move.
I chuckle under my breath and start changing my clothes, only glancing around the lot to check if anyone can see me when I start unfastening the belt around my pants.
Chance coughs, “What are you doing?” she says to me, but refuses to look directly at me.
With a snort I roll my eyes, “Changing my clothes, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Remember the shower you so rudely barged in on?” I say, waggling my brows.
A crimson blush spreads up her neck, engulfing her cheeks as she sputters, “What, I, that,” she releases a deep breath, blowing her fringe off her face, she finally manages to string three words together saying, “That was different,” she mutters from behind her hands, which are now covering her heated face.
I finish changing into my practice gear then step up to her again, pulling her hands away from her face, I kiss her still pink nose, “You busy tonight?” I ask.
She shakes her head, “No.”
“Good, I’ll swing by and pick you up when I finish at the gym. Text me your address and be ready by eight,” I tell her, pressing one last quick kiss to her lips, simply because I can’t help myself, then I hoof it to the field with Mase.
We make it to practice just in time, and Coach gives us both a disapproving stare but doesn’t say anything. Mase leans into me when Coach starts barking out the drills that we’ll be running today, and whispers, “So you and C.C. are a thing now, yeah?”
I glance at him, “Who the fuck is C.C.?”
Mase rolls his eyes at me, “Camera Chick.”
Raising my chin in understanding, I shrug, “I think so.”
He frowns, “You think so? You mean to say, you were contemplating beating my arse for touching her arse today and you only think you’re with her? Where’s the loyalty, man? I’ve been your bro since kindergarten. Are you trading me in for a chick?”
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes, “No fuckwit, bros before hoes, always. But Chance, she’s not a hoe, in any way, shape, or form.”
Mase shakes his head, “So your saying, what, exactly?”
Before I can answer the over sensitive man child who’s apparently in possession of a set of ovaries, Coach approaches. He sizes us up as we stand in front of him, ready for whatever bullshit he’s got planned for us today.
Just as things start getting awkward he says, “Mase, go join the drills. Carter and I need to talk.”
I don’t like the way he said the word talk, but I have no choice but to hear him out. As soon as Mase is out of earshot, Coach levels his eyes on me and goes in for the kill, “Are you serious about a career in the NFL or not? Because I’ve got a lot of talented boys on this team who haven’t had the chance to show the reps what they’ve got to offer because you take up all the damn spotlight. So, I’m asking you, are you invested?”
I’m shocked at his candour. Coach has never questioned my loyalty to the sport before. I’ve never given him reason to. Until this last couple of months, when I started putting in more hours with Trick. But even then, I give my all to the team first.
I know what I want to say. And I know what my father expects me to say. But I just can’t do it. And getting words to pass my lips is another issue entirely. I still haven’t made my decision. What I want and need, and what is expected of me, are two completely different things.
But I won’t lie to him. I’ve never been big on lying and I’m not going to start now. Clearing my throat, I tell Coach the only thing I can right now, “Bench me. I already have teams with contracts just waiting for me to sign. Give the boys their shot.”
Nobody except Mase and my father know that I’ve already been offered a place with three different teams. So, when Coach’s brows shoot up to his receding hairline at my words, I’m not surprised, but he sure as hell is.
It took him a minute to find his words, “Well, congratulations, Cross. You’ll be an asset to any team you play for,” he says, then turns his back to me and walks away.
He leaves me standing there on the side line without giving me a task. I look around and see Mase watching me, and I nod in his direction, letting him know everything’s fine. Then I take a seat on the bench and watch the rest of the team run drills for the next hour and a half.