2006

 

“Sweetie, are you sure you don’t want to go to prom?”

Even the word is stupid.

Peering up from my Law 101 textbook, I shake my head. “Yes, Mom, I’m sure. It’s a stupid rite of passage for girls to get drunk and make excuses for forgetting their virtues and underwear.” My dad splutters up his coffee.

I smile, going back to my study, which makes sense. Me going to prom—that doesn’t.

I know why she’s so insistent that I go. She never went to hers, thanks to me. But not once has she ever made me feel guilty for that fact. She just doesn’t want me missing out, but I’d rather chop off an arm than go.

I’m three weeks away from turning eighteen. Most girls would be planning their big day, but I’m planning on staying in my pj’s and watching Dexter all day. Lincoln has insisted we go out, but he knows how I feel about…people. Well, two people in particular.

Who would have thought my best friend and my best enemy would hook up and live happily ever after? That’s a slight exaggeration, but after “the incident” between Sin and I, he’s gone out of his way to torture me in unfathomable ways—he pretends I don’t exist.

I would give anything for a spark of acknowledgment, a “Hey, Princess, out of your training bra already?” but I get nada. He walks by me like I’m a shadow, one he can’t see. And to make matters worse, he’s now “dating” Belle.

I use the term lightly because someone like Sin doesn’t date, but Belle is living in denial, thinking she’s the woman to change someone who is set to be an asshole forever.

We’re still best friends, but things have changed between us. I hate myself for kissing the guy she’s been crushing on, and it’s kind of hard double dating, seeing as Lincoln hates Sin, and Sin hates everyone. Belle has suggested we try to be civil, as she and Lincoln are two peas in a pod, but unless there are several continents between us, that’s not happening in this millennium.

So I sit in silence, suffering, hoping that one day he remembers my name.

“You’ll be late for school,” Mom says, passing me an apple, which looks like a pea in comparison to the massive brown paper bag she slides along the kitchen counter.

Peering down at the arsenal, I arch a brow and poke at it with my finger. It doesn’t budge an inch. “How much is in there?”

She wrings her hands nervously; it’s a discussion we’ve had before. “Honey, you’re so skinny.”

“I’ll eat after exams.” But truth be told, everything has lost its taste since that night.

I don’t like to separate my life into BS and AS—before Sin, after Sin—but that’s how I feel. I’ve lost a sense of who I was. Who I’ve been for the past seventeen years, and I hate it. I hate that I need him to remember who I was. To remember what it felt like to be alive.

Pushing away such depressing thoughts, I humor her and snap the apple from the counter, taking a bite.

What will I do without her when I go to Stanford? The thought, while sad, is also so exciting in the same breath. I got accepted into my dream school and on a scholarship, too.

I’ll be out of here in three months’ time, and although I will miss my parents like crazy, I need to spread my wings and fly. Lincoln is certain he’ll get into Berkeley, which means he won’t be too far away from me.

Lincoln and I are sort of dating. It’s still so hard to wrap my head around it. I will never be one of the “mean girls,” which suits me just fine, but I’m merely tolerated now, as opposed to being treated like a social pariah. It sucks that to get to this kind of “status,” I had to date a jock. The rules of high school have always remained a mystery to me, and I’ll be happy to say goodbye.

Goodbye.

That word is still a sore point for me. In fact, I’ve become part French and opted for au revoir nowadays as that word does not exist in my vocabulary any longer.

Thoughts threatening to tip to the dark side, I gulp down my juice and reach for my lunch. “I’ll see you guys later. Have a good day.”

Mom kisses me on the head, still treating me like a child. “You too. If you change your mind about prom…” I hold up my hands in protest, but she pushes a fifty into them in response. “Then here. If you don’t, get yourself something nice to wear anyway.”

“Mom, I don’t need this.” I attempt to give it back, but it’s a losing battle. Belle’s horn sounds from outside, hinting we’re late.

She would usually come inside and have coffee with my folks, but today, we’re not late for class; we’re late for Belle’s regimented schedule to get her organized for prom.

“We’ll discuss this later.” My parents laugh lightly as I put the fifty in my back pocket and run out the door.

Belle’s Mercedes idles near the curb, her petite frame barely visible over the steering wheel. Her huge sunglasses eat up her heart-shaped face, but her red pout could take out an eye. I run across the front lawn and open the door, about to make a smartass remark about prom, but when I see her pale skin and that she’s in sweats, instead of sequins, I know something is wrong.

“Are you okay? You look like shit.” I place my hand on the doorframe and peer inside, not game to enter without a bubble suit and a spray can of Lysol.

She chuckles, but it gets stuck in her throat. Clearing it, she shakes her head. “Gee, some best friend you are. You’re supposed to tell me how beautiful I look and that I’m hours away from being prom queen.”

I move my lips from side to side, holding back my smirk. “The fact you’re wearing two different colored shoes would probably contradict that claim.”

Belle shrieks, her head snapping down to look at her pink Chuck versus her yellow Nike. Groaning, she runs a hand over her face, drawing down her lips. “Oh my god. Today can go to hell.”

Jumping in the car, I turn in my seat to look at her. “What’s the matter?”

Belle is one of the only people I know who doesn’t get sick. It’s just not in her DNA to catch a cold or even have a headache. So it goes without saying I’m concerned.

She sighs and reaches for a bottle of water from her bag. “I think I ate a bad burrito. I feel so bloated.” To emphasize her point, she snaps the elastic waist of her sweats. “See, even my stretchy pants are tight.”

I don’t mean to laugh, but Belle is anything but fat. She’s got a dancer body thanks to all the ballet classes her mom made her take when she was a kid. However, no matter how many times I tell her this, she doesn’t believe it. Thanks to her mom saying she could lose five pounds every chance she gets, Belle’s insecurity about her looks worsens every day.

“I’m not going tonight. My dress probably won’t even fit.”

I jerk backward in surprise. “You definitely aren’t feeling well.” I reach across the middle console and playfully feel her forehead. She shrugs from my hold, smiling half-heartedly.

We pull into peak-hour traffic, both groaning at the gridlock ahead. Belle taps her fingers against the wheel, rapping in time to a song on the radio. She seems edgy, and I wonder what’s wrong.

“Spit it out,” I bark, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

She turns slowly, her mouth parted like she’s not sure if she should say what’s on her mind. “It’s fine,” she finally says, which means it’s totally not.

“Belle,” I press. For the past couple of weeks, she’s been off and hasn’t been herself. I’ve asked her if everything was all right. All I got back was a mere shrug and her getting lost in whatever place her mind wanders to.

She sighs heavily, her shoulders drooping in defeat. “I know you don’t want to discuss him…”

I sit up taller in my seat, my curiosity piqued. “You’re my best friend; you can tell me anything.” I’m hungry for any small shred of information she wants to share. I should feel pathetic, but I don’t.

Her straight white teeth tug at her bottom lip, but she finally spills the beans. “I think Sin is losing interest in me.”

My insides do a double back flip, but I quickly quash down the urge to break into song. “Why do you think that?”

She shrugs in defeat. “It’s just a feeling I have. He hardly seems excited to take me to prom. And we don’t talk anymore. I think he’s going to dump me.”

When her lower lip trembles and she sniffs intermittently, I feel like the world’s worst friend for not being as upset as I should. I hate that she’s hurting, and I would take away her pain if I could, but a small part of me is…happy.

And the award for the biggest bitch goes to…

I can deal with my personal judgment later because all that matters right now is Belle.

Reaching across the console, I gently stroke her hand. “Have you talked to him about it?”

“That’s the problem, he won’t talk. He’s shut off…from everything. I’m used to him not being a big talker, but I thought he liked me.” A single tear traces down her porcelain cheek, but she quickly wipes it away with the back of her hand.

My heart breaks for her. Although we have one another, I know she’s craving a partner to fill the gaping void of belonging to someone mind, body, and soul.

“I see you and Lincoln together and wish I had that with Sin.” I furl my lips together tightly, afraid of what I’ll say if I don’t.

Lincoln is nice, but that’s all he is. He doesn’t give me butterflies, or that tiny flutter you read about in every Jane Austen novel. With him, I feel safe. There are no complications, no altercations, no nothing, and a small part of me is so bored that sometimes, I want to pick a fight on purpose.

Something must be seriously wrong with me.

Focusing on Belle, however, I reply, “Lincoln and I have our issues, too. It’s not all hearts and roses.” Which is true. I blame my study on the fact I don’t want to stay over or see him every day. I blame my job, needing to wash my hair every second day, walking the dog—any excuse I can muster to why we haven’t had sex yet.

Every time we get close, I just…I freak out. All I can think about is kissing beneath a sycamore tree under a starlit sky.

“I know that, but at least he likes you. I don’t even know if Sin likes me,” Belle says, breaking my train of thought.

All Belle wants is to be loved. I blame her constant search for approval on her parents.

Sighing, I try my best to console her. “How can he not like you, Belle? You’re beautiful, funny, not to mention you’re totally thumbing your nose at him for talking to me when I’m sure he’d rather you find a new best friend. I bet that just eats him up inside.” His annoyance has me smiling like a deranged circus clown.

However, when she remains quiet, I feel like I’ve just swallowed lead. “Right?”

She toys with the gold ring on her pointer, as if stalling for words. “Not really. He doesn’t really say anything about you. It’s like you don’t exist.”

And there it is…the truth. It hurts more than humanly possible. Every part of me deflates like a punctured balloon. I want to scream, cry, but most of all, I want him to call me princess just one more time.

“Are you…upset?” The pause reveals Belle’s surprise, and also her regret that she said anything.

Needing to get my head in the game, I pull back my shoulders with a scoff. “Please, upset? I couldn’t be happier. You do remember I hated his guts, right?”

The slipup is small, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by Belle. “Hated?” she questions, turning to look at me. Her eyes may be covered, but I can feel her watching me, watching for any wrong move.

My fingers tremble as I tug at the frayed hole in my jeans. “Yes, hated, because just like Sin, I’ve forgotten he exists too.”

If only that were the truth. My life would be so much easier if it were.

My excuse seems to appease her when she turns her eyes back to the road. “So you’re sure you’re not coming tonight?”

“One hundred percent,” I counter without pause. She seems somewhat relieved, and I suddenly wonder why.

We travel the rest of the way in silence, but the silence speaks volumes and fills in the blanks.

“This is really good work, Holland.”

After my shitty morning, it’s nice to get this news, especially news which cements me getting the fuck out of Dodge. The red A+ on my lit paper is one step closer to Stanford, and Mrs. Anthony, my English teacher, is the one I need to thank.

Mrs. Anthony is everything you’d expect a sixty-plus-year-old English teacher to look like. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her with a hair out of place or looking less than refined. She was always eager to share her wisdom with her pupils, but sadly, her expertise wasn’t sought out by many.

“I’m going to miss you. You’ve been one of my favorite students,” she whispers from behind her wrinkly hand.

I smile, honored she thinks so highly of me, because once upon a time, she was a rock star in the literary world. She penned three novels, all international bestsellers, but now, she teaches twelfth grade English to jaded, uninterested students.

Mrs. Anthony wrote a glowing letter of recommendation to Stanford on my behalf, and I have no doubt her praise helped me get in. I’ll miss her dearly. She’s one of the few happy memories I’ll take away with me.

“You know,” she says, gathering her books into a neat pile on her desk. “You could always do the rest of your work via correspondence. Use the spare time to get ready for Stanford.”

I pause from placing the paper into my backpack, both eyebrows raised in question. “I can do that?”

Peering down her nose over the rim of her silver framed glasses, she nods. “Yes. You don’t need any extra credit. All you need to do is sit the exams. With that scholarship under your belt, you just have to make sure your grades don’t drop.”

All of this is news to me, but it’s fantastic. “It’s definitely something to think about. Thank you, Mrs. Anthony. I’m really going to miss your classes.”

She appears genuinely touched by my admission. “Just don’t forget about me.”

“Not a chance.” I wave goodbye, squashing down my tears, because it’s people like Mrs. Anthony who have made my time at Harvard-Westlake bearable.

Stepping out into the hall, I pause in the doorway, holding my books to my chest as I take in the bustling corridors and study the faces of people I’ve known for more than half my life. I wish I could say we’re a mixed bunch, but we’re not. With age hasn’t come wisdom. But when we all leave here, we’ll be fresh meat, and the hierarchy will shift. My peers will no longer be king or queen, and a small part of me can’t wait to watch them fall from their thrones.

A small titter has me wondering just where Belle and I will be once high school ends. She hasn’t been too worried about where she’ll end up because her dad knows every board member on the school facility at Berkeley. Regardless of her grades, she’ll get in. It must be nice to know people in high places.

The laughter continues, and when I see Belle and Lincoln, heads locked in chatter, I smile, thankful they get along so well. To onlookers, it may appear like they’re more than just friends, but I know better. I know she’s head over heels for Sin.

I watch with interest as she whispers behind her hand, which has Lincoln leaning against the lockers, smirking. Belle has always been flirty by nature, and even when she caresses his bicep, not a lick of jealousy arises. I ignore why that is and instead focus on the fact that I trust her. I trust them both.

However, I don’t trust myself whenever he enters a room, like right now. I don’t know whether I want to slap or hug him, but London Sinclair has elicited that response from me for as long as I can remember.

He looks his usual aloof self and doesn’t raise an eyebrow when he sees Belle yank away from Lincoln, guiltily brushing away invisible lint from his football jersey. I’m too far away to listen in, but when Belle’s mouth suddenly hits the ground and Lincoln clenches his fist, I know the topic of conversation is most likely me.

I cling to my books, the walls closing in on me as I watch a few heated words being exchanged between both boys before Belle turns a sickly green. Her eyes snap my way, as I’ve caught her attention. She bites her lip, giving away her remorse. The action seems to give away my location to Sin, because with slow, calculated precision, he turns over his shoulder. Our eyes lock for a mere second, but it’s the best second, I’ve experienced in many months.

I’ve forgotten what it felt like to be pinned by those stormy baby blues, but what I haven’t forgotten is the pull I still feel to him. Every part of me gets zapped with a million volts of electricity, panting for more. But I get doused with a reality check when he drills a hole straight through me, before focusing on a spot just above my head.

We connected for a fraction of time, but that measly moment has left me jacked up and hungry for so much more. Lincoln snickers, which has Sin grinning his lopsided smirk, before continuing on his way as cool as a cucumber.

Belle gnaws at her lip, eyes peeled to her mismatched sneakers, unable to look at me. That instantly sets off alarm bells. Excusing myself, I push through the crowd. Lincoln spins, only just aware of my presence.

I don’t give him a chance to speak. “What did he want?”

He sighs, fisting his light brown hair. “Babe, don’t worry about it.”

I stubbornly shake my head. He should know me better by now. “Tell me.”

“You know that whatever he has to say is not—”

I cut him off, uninterested in his chivalry. “Lincoln, just tell me. I’m a big girl, and I don’t need you to protect me.”

I’m expecting more of a fight from him, so I stand completely mute when he reveals, “He said that I was to make sure…you didn’t come to prom because he wasn’t interested in fighting over what’s his.”

When I think I can speak without gasping for air, I exclaim, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” There is so much venom behind my words, Belle takes a physical step back.

“I guess prom is a big deal to him. He wants to hold title to every high school tradition there is and doesn’t want to share his limelight with us.” When I scrunch up my nose, so lost in translation he may as well be speaking in Chinese, he spells it out. “Everyone knows it’s a dead heat between us for prom king and queen.”

I shake my head. There must be some mistake. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about prom. Sin doesn’t care for such trivial bullshit either, but when I look at Belle, I know that she does. His comment is not only directed at the inconsequential title, it’s directed at Belle as well. In his eyes, Belle is his, and her losing something which she dearly wants is cause enough to pick a fight.

No wonder she can’t look at me.

They can shove their tiara where the sun don’t shine. I want to believe that Sin feels the same way, but I obviously don’t know him at all.

I’m certain the entire corridor can hear my teeth grinding. I’m a woman scorned, and I want my revenge…and I want it now.

“Holland, no.”

Lincoln’s pleas fall on deaf ears as he knows better than to stop me. I tear down the hallway, bowling down anyone stupid enough to stand in my way. My peers part like the Red Sea because what is about to go down is of biblical proportions.

I know where he’ll be, and even though it’s off-limits to any female with a brain, I push open both locker room doors and hunt down my prey. It’s everything I’d expect a boys’ locker room to look like, and usually, on any given day, I would turn redder than a tomato with so much flesh on display, but my bashfulness can take a back seat.

The air is plumed with a light mist from the showers, but I could walk into here blind and still find him. My asshole compass finds my north. He’s topless, standing in front of his locker.

I don’t even think twice about my actions as I march toward Sin, ignoring the catcalls from his teammates. He turns to see what the commotion is, but it’s too late. I shove at his chest with both hands and he stumbles back into his locker, completely caught off guard.

“Who do you think you are?” I spit.

It takes him a moment to register that I am actually in here, about to wage a war, but when he does, he attempts to turn. I latch onto his bicep, ignoring the volt of a billion currents which courses through my veins.

His heavy, erratic breathing forces the hair from my cheeks, but he doesn’t speak. We’re caught in a stalemate, and I hate it. In the past, his insults have hurt, but ignoring me…that hurts more.

I can’t stand the silent treatment a second longer. “What right do you have to tell me where I can or cannot be? You’ve ignored me for months, and now you think you can call the shots? Screw you, you arrogant, self-important asshole!”

Just as I attempt to shove him again, he snatches both biceps and spins me so quickly, the world blurs around me in a kaleidoscope of color. He slams my back against the wall, pressing his very naked torso to my heaving chest to subdue me. I try to fight him, but a small part of me yields unreservedly.

We’re caught between two sets of lockers, shielded from prying eyes. It should scare me that I’m bound and his potential prisoner, but I finally feel…something after feeling dead inside for so long.

I’m unable to control my flouncing breaths because being this close to him is literally leaving me gasping. His blistering skin burns right through the thin cotton of my t-shirt, and the thought of being so close to him has an ardent whimper slipping past my parted lips.

I muzzle it however, because I want answers, and I want them now.

I lift my eyes, armed to exchange blows, but my plans are ambushed when he feverishly raises both my arms and locks my wrists in his huge palm. I’m suspended, trapped, with nowhere to go, as I’m pinned to the wall by this seething, beautiful boy.

I’m shaking in anger, but I’m also bursting with anticipation. Now that he has me, I’m yearning to uncover what he plans to do.

“For someone who said I was to stay away from them, you sure as shit can’t seem to stay away,” he states, shaking his head with poise.

They may not be ideal first words, but they’re better than no words at all.

I want to snap back with something sarcastic, but I’m currently drowning in his musky, vanilla smell.

“I don’t like being called a mistake,” he poses, going straight in for the kill.

He remembers.

I thought he’d forgotten me, but this entire time, it appears our last exchange was never far from his mind. I want to fight him, but I can’t. He’s right. I did tell him to stay away, but he’s so wrong about everything else.

“And I especially don’t like liars.” The anger explodes from him, and then spreads like wildfire through my veins.

I could argue, but what would be the point?

This is the most he’s spoken to me in forever, and I’ll do anything to keep him talking.

“Why don’t you want me there tonight?”

He tightens his hold on me, a bittersweet sting. “You’re a clever girl; you’ll figure it out yourself.”

“Figure what out?”

With a languid speed, he lowers his face to mine, searching every plane. It’s been so long since we’ve been this close; I can’t consume him quick enough. My memory has done a poor job remembering him because it’s sensory overload and I don’t know what to appreciate first.

The fullness of his pink lips lures me back to the moment they were pressed to mine. He wets his bottom lip, and I suppress a moan when I remember that tongue dominating my mouth with a ferocious appetite, intent on devouring me whole.

My mind races a million miles a minute, but I take a moment to bask in the fact his thundering heart is thrashing wildly against mine. My eyes dip, impatiently taking in every stripped inch of him, but a gasp becomes imprisoned within when he sinks forward. Our bodies are pressed so close; I don’t even know where mine starts and his ends.

I am so turned on, my flesh is igniting. My cheeks are a rosy red, and my center is suddenly throbbing. I’m horrified because I’m certain he can read my desire.

“Figure out that things aren’t always what they seem.”

I’d almost forgotten we were speaking because my body was doing the talking for me.

My arms are still suspended above my head, secured in his hand, while the other slips to my waist and finds the flesh where my t-shirt meets my jean shorts. He runs his finger along the waistband and smirks when I bite my lip to impede the whimper.

“Like that, Princess?”

This time, my hum of approval breaks past the floodgates because he just called me princess. “Why do you care what I l-like?” I pose, hoping to fake confidence, but the stutter in my question gives me away.

In an indirect way, I’ve just confessed that I do like it—a lot, but I’m suddenly so sick of pretenses. Lincoln has never stirred these deep-seated feelings in me.

I feel sick to my stomach because a wave of realization drags me under and I gasp for breath. I want Sin—I want him with every shred of my body, and while I’m horror-struck by that fact, I can’t ignore it a second longer.

I’m in love—in love with my enemy—and I don’t know how to make it stop.

I don’t know when the line was crossed, or if there ever was a line, but the thought of letting him go punches a hole straight through my chest. Tears sting my eyes. He’s able to hurt me because I’ve never wanted anything more than I do him.

I turn my cheek, embarrassed. When did this happen? How could I have been so stupid? For my entire life, it’s been drummed into my head that the boy standing before me is nothing but trouble, and his surname alone is a reminder of what his family did to mine. That should have been enough of a deterrent, but all it’s done has made me want him more.

“I don’t care,” he whispers, leaning in close, his warm breath bathing my neck. “But I like seeing you, feeling you…” To accentuate his point, he glides his fingertip over the top button of my shorts. “Squirm.” And squirm I do.

But I can’t help but think he’s lying.

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop from asking him something I know I’ll regret.

My flesh sparks alight when he dips low and glides his nose along the column of my neck, inhaling my perfume. “Oh, Princess…” His breath continues to tickle my heated skin. “If you want it, all you have to do is ask.” I go weak at the knees, and stars flash before my eyes. I don’t even know what he means by it because I want it all.

“What the fuck? Get off her!” Lincoln’s voice smashes through my hormone-fueled fog, and I sag forward, thankful Sin is holding me up because I would have crumpled without him.

Sin turns over his shoulder, an amused grin pulling at his lips. “Your knight in shining armor has arrived,” he says, tongue in cheek. He breaks our connection, and I instantly miss his warmth.

“I-I don’t need any saving. I can save myself,” I whisper, impressed I managed to spit that out without choking.

His attention snaps back to me, both eyebrows raised. “I know, Princess.” He knows? This is news to me. “I’ve always known that. But does he?”

We both focus on Lincoln, who comes charging over, fists clenched, nostrils flared in rage. His Hulk Hogan impersonation reinforces Sin’s train of thoughts. Lincoln doesn’t know me at all, but to be fair, it’s because I’ve never let him in. I’ve never wanted to.

“Have fun with Commando Ken,” he mocks, walking backward and completely ignoring Lincoln’s abuse.

I want to say so many things, but most of all, I don’t want him to go.

“Are you okay?” Lincoln says, rushing over and holding me out at arm’s length.

I know I should be thankful, but his concern is entirely unnecessary. “I’m fine,” I reply with more bite than intended. When he tries to touch my cheek, I shrug from his hold.

“Whoa, I’m not the enemy here. He is.” He hooks his thumb toward Sin, who is slipping into his jersey, uncaring. “That motherfucker. I’ll kill him.” Sin whistles a tune happily, the sound mocking and provoking.

Just as Lincoln lunges forward, I latch onto his bicep. “Stop it. I’m fine. I don’t need you jumping to my defense. I can look after myself.”

“It didn’t look that way five seconds ago.”

“I had it under control,” I counter stubbornly.

This gallant act pisses me off because it just corroborates what Sin said—Lincoln doesn’t know me at all.

“Whatever, Holland, you’re shaken up. We can discuss it later.”

The more he speaks, the madder I become, and the more amused Sin becomes. “She’s a big girl, Linc. Probably has bigger balls than you do.”

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” Lincoln spits, the veins in his neck popping.

“Thanks for the reminder,” Sin replies with a grin, slamming his locker shut. He’s getting off on this. He knows I’m about to tell Lincoln to close his mouth for good.

I need to end this before it gets out of hand. “If you’re done comparing who has the biggest dick, I have homework to do.”

Lincoln’s mouth falls open while Sin bursts into laughter. “There’s no competition there, Princess.”

“Fuck you, man.” Lincoln shakes his head, angered that I’ve shot him down.

“You’re not my type,” Sin replies, adding fuel to the fire.

“What’s going on here? Break it up!” Coach’s booming voice shatters the spectacle, reminding me I probably should be leaving now.

“Sorry, Coach. I was just leaving,” I apologize, but Coach turns his annoyance toward his son.

“You know better, Lincoln. Jesus Christ!” His face turns a beet red.

“Coach!” Lincoln protests but is swiftly cut off.

“You can sit this one out.”

“What the hell? What about the game this weekend?”

Coach’s discipline is a little extreme, but I know better than to intervene.

“You can sit that one out too.” The locker room falls silent.

I feel awful because this is kind of my fault. Lincoln glares at me before shooting Sin a glower dripping with pure venom. Sin merely smirks smartly.

Lincoln storms out of the room while his father pats Sin on the back. He doesn’t seem concerned he just embarrassed and penalized his child. “Ready, son?”

“Always,” he replies, looking at me smugly. That’s my cue to leave.

I push past the boys, shielding my peripheral vision with cupped palms and only focusing ahead. Now that I’m not shaking with rage, I realize my outburst has drawn the attention of the entire football team, some of whom I will never look at the same way ever again.

“Come visit us again,” a few of them tease, only adding to my embarrassment.

“Not on your life. I’ve seen what’s on for show, and it ain’t nothing to write home about.” I attempt to stage confidence, but squeak when one of the boys emerges from the shower without a towel.

Sin’s highly amused chuckles are hot on my heels as I run out the door.