The locker room is a racket of post-practice banter and the musky scent of sweat-soaked jerseys. A tightness forms deep within, thinking about Poppy and her blatant rejection of any potential friendship.
But it’s not only friendship you want, is it? It never was. My mind riles me.
My gaze locks with Cole’s, his smirk revealing that he knows exactly where my mind is. That reminds me of the promise I made to her and need to uphold if I ever want to earn a little bit of trust.
I approach Cole, my steps deliberate.
“Fuck, Coach was brutal today!” Cole winces, peeling off his damp sock.
“You know the rules—three push-ups for every minute you’re late. That’s forty minutes today.”
He shrugs, a sly grin playing on his lips. “Worth it.”
I don’t know what exactly happened. I’m sure it has something to do with Poppy’s curvy roommate and her request to keep him away from her.
A prick of irritation surfaces. “I need you to keep your distance from Eva.”
Cole scoffs, a spark of defiance in his eyes. “What did you say?”
“I mean it, Cole. Eva’s off-limits,” I insist, my voice steady but firm, trying to convey the seriousness of my words without escalating the tension.
“Is that right?” He leans in, his smirk unwavering. “Fine, I don’t care. But I might ask the curly-haired one out.”
I stiffen, my voice icy. “She’s not into athletes. And Eva isn’t into you.”
His voice is a venomous hiss. “Whatever happens between Eva and me has nothing to do with you.”
My response is instinctive. Protective. “It does when you’re acting like a predator.”
Cole’s head jerks back, the only sign of his surprise.
“What the fuck did you call me?” He reaches out and grips my jersey, and I brace myself for a fight I never thought I’d have with my best friend.
Liam’s voice slices through the tension, his British accent sharp with anger. “Fuck, guys! I have one rule for this team. One rule! We don’t fight over pussy or dick! We just fucking don’t!”
The locker room falls silent, all eyes on us as Liam, the typically composed Brit, looks like an enraged bull.
The only saving grace is that Coach is not here to witness the mess we’re making.
“And, Ethan,” Liam continues, his voice a low growl, “if you think your curly-haired girl isn’t into athletes, think again. Saw her at Pizz-tachio, being all secretive with a basketball player.”
I grit my teeth, frustration coursing through me. “Who?” I demand, my voice a low growl.
Liam shrugs, dismissive. “Not sure, don’t care. Now get your head out of your arse because if you don’t, I swear to God, neither of you will get the captain spot next year. Understand?”
I send a last withering look to Cole before grabbing my towel and toiletries. Cole barks something to the rest of the team and then walks to the shower beside mine, the separation stopping at the waistline. I ignore him as I lather shampoo on my head but notice after a couple of minutes that as players exit the shower, no one takes their place.
“I asked for a few minutes alone with you,” Cole says gruffly, not looking at me.
“A secret rendezvous, naked in the showers. Stop it, people will talk,” I sneer.
“After we fought about pussy like hormonal teenagers?” he scoffs. “I don’t think so.”
I go back to my shower, ignoring him.
He’s silent for a second, then quietly mutters, “I’m not a predator, Ethan. You, of all people, should know that.”
I do know that. I’ve been to tons of parties with the man, parties where half-naked, drunken girls threw themselves at him, and he refused them because they were too intoxicated. He has never pressured anyone into anything, never been violent with a girl, even the crazy ex from high school who keeps showing up unannounced.
I look back at him, and Cole’s eyes hold mine, a silent plea lingering in them. I exhale slowly, the anger seeping out with it. But the unease remains, a shadow lurking in the back of my mind.
I sigh. “Then leave her alone, man. Seriously, she is scared.”
Cole grunts. “She’s not scared, she’s… confused.”
I stop showering and turn toward him, water still running on me. “Do you hear yourself? She’s confused?”
“Just… Just trust me on this, okay? I know what I’m doing, and what if I told you to leave Curly alone? Would you do it?”
He has me there and he knows it. “It’s different,” I reply lamely.
“How?” he challenges.
“Poppy is not scared of me; she loathes me.”
Cole laughs. “God, we’re pathetic.”
I wish I could deny that, but I can’t.
“You’re my best friend, asshole,” he mutters. “I don’t want to fight with you, but…”
My throat tightens as I nod, accepting his unspoken apology. “I know. Just… ease up?”
He nods. “I can try.”
I turn off the water, a silent invitation for the other players to hit the showers, and as I wrap my towel around my waist, Cole proves once again that he knows me by heart.
“Bring me back a Meat Feast from Pizz-tachio,” he calls after me.
I don’t answer. I simply walk to my locker like a man on a mission. Whoever that basketball player is, he’s not going to stand in my way. Not this time. She was the one who got away in high school, and even now, she lingers in my thoughts, an unclaimed desire; the only difference is that I am not a boy anymore, and I am claiming what is mine.
The neon sign of Pizz-tachio flickers as the night starts to fall, casting an erratic glow on the pavement.
Who’s the predator now? I think as Poppy exits the pizzeria, still in her uniform and clutching a pizza box tightly in her hands. My heart’s doing this weird hammering thing as I observe her. Hidden in the shadows of my car. It’s concern, not obsession. It has to be, right?
My stomach twists into a knot, a weird ache that only comes around when I see her.
Who’s the predator now? Cole’s voice chimes in my head.
She’s always been untouchable, even back in high school when I’d watch her from afar. But here I am, years later, still trapped in her enigmatic pull, still wanting things from her that I can’t quite name.
Poppy glances at her watch, her brow furrowing in evident anxiety, and then dashes across the street to a charity store. I see her through the window as the young man behind the counter hands her a bag. My grip tightens on the steering wheel as she hugs him after looking into the bag. Something hot and unpleasant coils in my stomach. Jealousy? I try to brush aside the notion, but it clings, persistent and unsettling.
The bus arrives, and she boards, her movements hurried. I start the car, following at a distance, my mind a whirlwind of confusion and curiosity with every stop she doesn’t get off, and she gets farther down the South side.
She finally gets off at a stop in front of a discount store, holding her bag and pizza box quite precariously as she enters the store.
I park across the street, ready to wait, but right after she walks in, she steps out with another plastic bag, a cheap burner phone in hand, speaking rapidly, her eyes darting around nervously. Her vulnerability pierces through me, and before I know it, I blow my perfect tailing by stepping out of the car and approaching her.
She pales as I stop in front of her, but her recovery is quick, a mask of indifference sliding into place.
“You alright?” My voice tries to play it cool, but there’s a waver that I can’t control, betraying my calm facade.
“Yes, of course,” she replies, but her eyes betray a flicker of something that tugs at my conscience.
I hesitate, then offer, “Maybe I can take you wherever you need to go.”
She looks conflicted, her gaze flitting to her watch before she shakes her head. “No thanks.”
“It’s only a ride, Poppy. We don’t even have to talk. Just… let me help?” My voice is softer now, coaxing.
She sighs. A weary sound that seems to echo with world-weariness. Her eyes flick to her watch again, then dart down the road like she’s calculating if she can afford to wait.
She gives this reluctant nod, trailing after me to my car, and then she’s opening the passenger door, a silent concession that has my spirits soaring. I suppress a triumphant grin as she slides into the passenger seat, instead focusing on the bag on her lap, spotting the yellow tag of discounted food on a birthday cake.
I can’t help but grimace. Strawberry and orange cake? Not really a combination I was expecting.
“Where to?” I ask, my voice deliberately casual.
“Home.”
I put my blinker on to do a U-turn and go back to college, but she corrects me, a faint blush staining her cheeks.
“No, it’s that way.” She points forward, and my frown deepens as cold realization dawns.
“But—” I stop, looking at the road ahead. “There’s only the trailer park down there.”
She doesn’t say anything, only stares into nothing, and it hits me like a punch to the gut. This is her life. The struggle, the constant hustle. It’s like seeing behind a curtain she never meant to open. She’s not only down on her luck; she’s been dragged through hell. And me? I’ve been piling on even more.
The silence in the car is thick, charged with unspoken words and emotions. An apology is on the tip of my tongue, and the urge to offer help swells within me, but the words stick in my throat, held back by the fear of pushing her further away.
She’s different, this Poppy in front of me. Her eyes hold stories that the Poppy I knew never had, and I’m left wondering what the hell happened to make them so damn haunted.
This girl in front of me is a fighter; she went to war and came back on top, and while I feel guilt and a hint of renewed hatred toward my father, I’m also in awe of her, and now more than even I know.
Something inside me clicks, settling with a certainty that’s almost frightening. I want Poppy in my life, and I want to be in hers. But damn, I know it’s not gonna be as simple as stamping “mine” on her.
