Chapter Forty
Tyler
My cell buzzes as I stalk over to my Jeep ready to put it in the glove. I look down at it and curse. This isn’t mine.
“Hey!” Layla yells.
I turn and face her. If looks could kill I’d be dead. She shoves my phone into my chest and then slaps me. My jawline stings from the contact and I growl. “What the hell was that for?”
“You lied to me! You pretended this whole time to be some guy named R and it was you.”
“Whoa! I didn’t lie! My last name is Richardson. People call me R or T, or sometimes they call me Ty or Richardson. Excuse me for not elaborating. Still doesn’t make me a liar. And what about you?”
Tears spring from her eyes and she sticks out her hand. “Just give me my phone back. I wish I never accidentally texted you.”
“You and me both, sweetheart.” I drop her phone into her hand.
I don’t watch her walk away. I can hear her sobs but refuse to go to her. I turn to my Jeep and slip my cell into the glove compartment. After I lock it up I make my way to the locker room.
As I approach the brick building Adam pushes himself from the wall and comes toward me. “Are you into her?”
“Am I into who?”
“Don’t play games, man. How long have you been into Layla?”
I shove him away from me. “Get the hell out of my face Adam, before I knock you out. I’m not in the mood.”
“Did she turn you down? I told you she’s nothing but a tease.”
I don’t know why, but his words set me off. I lift him up and shove him against the wall. I press my forearm against his collarbone and snarl, “Shut the hell up. Don’t talk about her like that. You hear me?”
“You think she’s into you? She isn’t. She hates you. Any time I said I was going to your house she would say what a jackass you are and she didn’t know why I would hang out with you. Face facts: Layla can’t stand you.”
I loosen my grip and walk away. The dumbass is probably right. The sad part is, I feel like a moron thinking I had a chance with Layla. She probably concocted those tears because that’s what girls like her do when they don’t get their way. She’s probably trying to bait me into that little game of hers.
I storm into the locker room and dress into my gear.
Jared opens his locker right as I’m about to close mine. He looks over at me. “You okay?”
“I just want to get this game over with so I can drink myself stupid tonight.”
“So, are you in game mode or not?”
I slam my hand against my locker and yell, “I’m ready!”
Jared nods and continues dressing in his gear. I notice a bag of food containers next to him. “What’s that?”
He glances at the bag and then up at me. “Layla and Rachel’s dinner. And before you even ask, you should know you and Layla somehow mixed up phones. So now she knows it was you that she’s been texting. She started having a meltdown. Then she basically bit my head off, thinking I knew about this the whole time and you were making a big joke about it. I tried telling her you weren’t but she didn’t listen.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. She stomped her princess self-up to my Jeep, slapped my face, and yelled at me. I’m done. Screw her.”
“So, she didn’t talk to you?”
“No man, she yelled at me. Called me a liar. Basically, I’m a jerkface. Whatever. I didn’t text her first. She texted me. Yet, I’m the dick in this situation.”
He shakes his head. “Dude. You both are stubborn idiots. I told you from the beginning it was a terrible idea. The whole texting and not knowing each other thing was going to blow up in your face. I told her to talk to you. Neither of you listen.”
“Thanks. Like I need a reminder.”
He shuts his locker, helmet in hand, and says, “Whatever. Our focus is on the game not this crap. I gotta take this food to the girls.”
I snatch up my helmet and walk out of the locker room and onto the field. The cheerleaders are already lined up in the end zone. Some are standing around, some are doing flips, others are practicing cheers. No matter how much I want to ignore her I can’t. My eyes zero in on her perfect body, up her toned legs to her sexy ass.
I shake my head and focus on the field. Some of the guys on the receiving team are already out there running routes. I head over to them and go about the usual warm-up routine. Run straight down the field and dart left, catch a ball. We do this five times then change to slants, then run plays.
Blackhawk takes the field at the opposite end. The one guy I have a major beef with is Vince Fario. He seems to spot me, takes off his helmet, and gives me the universal sign for “You’re dead.” Yeah, right. I flip him off then turn my back on him. He’s still ticked off I screwed his sister last year.
A hand slams down on my shoulder and I glance over at Jared. “Ready?”
“For?”
“The usual drills.”
I nod. “Yep.”
He calls us all into a huddle and says, “All right, right cross eight. Break,” and slaps his hands together.