I left Kasey bare-assed in that classroom. Aaron’s little sister. Ass cheeks red, courtesy of yours truly, and on display for anyone who walked in to see. This is bad. Already, there is a voice in my head that whispers you traitor, he’s like a brother. He trusts you.
There’s a lead weight in my gut. I shouldn’t have touched her. I sure as shit shouldn’t still be thinking about touching her.
Thank God I didn’t go through with fucking her. Not that what I did do constitutes as much better. A heavy blanket of guilt encompasses me. This can’t happen again. Me. Her. I lied when I told Roman I wasn’t interested. What I meant was I can’t afford to be interested. Not in her. Not like that.
I reach the locker room and make quick work of changing. I’m a few minutes late, but no one will care. I’m not practicing today, still on Coach’s mandatory rest period for my shoulder, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna bounce on my obligations. Or miss the chance to give Deacon a piece of my mind.
Kasey might say it was an accident, but I’m not buying it.
Seeing that bruise on her arm … I shake my head and take a deep breath. It damn near sent me over the edge. The thought of anyone hurting her, anyone who isn’t me—and yeah, I realize how fucked up that is—makes my blood boil.
I want to fuck her. Punish her. Soothe her. I want her to ache because of me and I want to be the only one capable of taking that ache away.
Smacking her ass and watching it redden has blood rushing straight to my cock. Seeing her lust-drenched eyes, feeling just how soaking wet her panties are, shit, it does something to me.
The door leading to the field opens and Emilio walks in, shouting, “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be back. Chill the fuck out,” over his shoulder.
“It’s about time you showed up. Everything good?” he asks, seeing me on the bench.
I grunt. “Peachy.”
He opens his locker, the one right next to mine, and gives me a curious look.
“What’d you do?” he asks.
“What are you talking about?”
He grabs a roll of athletic tape and begins wrapping his wrists. “You look guilty as fuck, man. Where were you before you got here?”
I keep my expression blank. “I think you’ve been watching too many telanovelas with Bibiana, E.”
He chuckles. “You got me there, but bro, Señora Acero is savage. That opening scene is a la Game of Thrones two-thousand thirteen. A wedding. A massacre. You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
He finishes with his wrists and tosses the tape back in his locker. “I still can’t believe you stopped watching at the ten-minute mark.” He shakes his head. “Fifteen more minutes and it would have gotten to the good part.”
“I couldn’t understand anything.”
Emilio scoffs. “Turn on the fucking subtitles. It’s fine.”
I stretch my back and put myself through a short series of stretches as we bullshit a little longer. I know what I’m planning to do once I walk out on the field, but what I don’t know is how to get Emilio and Roman off of it.
“Hunt,” I shout, ensuring my voice carries across the field. His head jerks up and he looks around, searching for whoever called his name. As soon as he realizes it was me, he jogs his way over, pulling off his helmet once he’s close.
“Yo. What’s up?” He tilts his head in greeting, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm.
“Kasey Henderson.” I bite out her name.
He smirks, a glint of excitement in his eyes. “She’s fucking fine, right?” He rocks back on his heels and gives me a knowing look. Like we’re friends or some shit and both in on the same secret.
Until this moment, I had zero issue with Hunt. Thought he was an okay dude with potential, but now… I can’t stand the sight of him and I’m two seconds away from punching him in the face, making sure to leave a mark like he left on Kasey.
But I decide to give him a chance and delay punching him right out of the gate by grabbing him by the jersey instead and shoving him against the chain-link fence that surrounds the field.
He brings his arms up in a vain attempt to stop me, but despite the definition he picked up in high school, I have an easy sixty pounds of muscle on him. He’s still a kid, and he’s not getting away until I’m good and ready to let him go.
“What the fuck, man.” His eyes are wide, and I make sure he gets a good look at the fury riding me. “Is she yours or something? Shit, man. She never mentioned having a boyfriend. So if you’ve got beef, take it up with her.” He stops fighting me, both arms raised in surrender. Idiot.
“She’s seventeen,” I snarl, inches from his face.
“What’s your point? We’re both freshmen. I’m only a year older, probably less than that.”
I shake him before slamming him against the fence harder. I can feel the eyes of the team on me, but no one interferes. The only people dumb enough to try are Roman and Emilio, and I made sure both were occupied in the locker room before tracking Deacon down, and that shit took some maneuvering.
“She’s a fucking minor,” I seethe.
“Bro, lay off. It’s not illegal or anything. How do you even know her?”
Shouting comes from the other side of the field. Fuck. I thought I’d have more time, but I guess I’ll have to make due with what I have.
“Whatever you think is going on between you two, it ends now. When you see her in class you’re going to pretend like you don’t even see her.”
His jaw tightens, and I know he wants to smart off, but he manages to keep his mouth shut. Only the flaring of his nostrils betrays his emotions. Maybe he isn’t that stupid after all.
I drop my hold on him and turn, shouldering past the guys on the team stupid enough to have inched their way closer. Fucking gossips.
“Dom—” Roman calls out, but I shake my head. I’m good. Shit is over. Or at least it should be, but then Deacon goes and opens his fucking mouth.
“I’m not passing on her,” he shouts. “If you had your shot and missed it, that’s on you. But I’m not gonna look past a fine as fuck piece of ass for your benefit. Not until I’ve sampled her, at least. When I’m done, I might consider sharing if you still want a taste.” He laughs like he’s some arrogant frat kid.
My head turns almost as if in slow motion. Everything around me falls away, and all I see is the dipshit in front of me, the three meters between us, and the time it will take me to reach him so I can lay his punk ass out.
“Am I right, boys?” Deacon smirks as he looks around him, meeting the eyes of our teammates. No one responds to him and I watch in satisfaction as his smile slips, and then, I’m on him. I have my left hand on his throat, the right clenched into a tight fist and I draw my arm back.
Right as I move to swing, a hand wraps around my fist, barely managing to stop my momentum. I jerk my gaze to my right only to find Roman holding onto me. Emilio not two steps behind him.
“Your hands,” he bites out.
With my left hand still holding Deacon in place, I shake my best friend off. “Fuck my hands.” Whatever damage they might sustain will be worth it, only Roman doesn’t seem to agree.
“You have a fucked-up shoulder and now you wanna fuck your future just to punch this asshole in the face? Come on, Dom, be smart.”
With my eyes locked on his, I ignore Deacon’s failed attempts at escape. His hands swing out in a bid to hit me first, save face in front of the team, but my reach is longer than his and all he manages to hit is air. He realizes that he’ll never reach me and starts pounding his fist into my left arm.
I grunt, but don’t let go.
“Don’t be stupid. You’re better than this. Don’t throw away the season just to punch some punk ass kid.”
“Fuck you,” Deacon weezes, not liking Roman’s names for him. Personally, I like punk ass more than asshole. It fits him.
My arm is numb. He tagged me on my funny bone and the nerve is spasming, but I’m not about to let up.
Without looking at him, I tighten my grip on his neck.
“My hands will be fine,” I snap. “And if they’re not, fuck it. It’ll be worth it to teach this motherfucker a lesson.”
Emilio appears on my other side and both he and Roman work together to shove me back.
I drag Deacon backward with me.
“Dude, let go,” Emilio shouts.
“No.”
“God dammit,” Roman snaps. “For once, will you fucking listen? He isn’t worth it.”
My nostrils flare. “You have no idea what—”
Emilio curses. “Dammit, Dominique. He’s turning blue. Shit. I didn’t know black could turn that shade of blue.”
I turn to Deacon, eyes narrowing. “Idiot. He’s not turning blue. He’s turning white. See, around his mouth is muted and almost ashy.”
Emilio leans in for a closer look and I use my free hand to smack him upside the head.
“Fucker,” he complains, rubbing the back of his head.
“I think you should see a doctor if you think that is blue. Are you color blind?”
Deacon is still struggling, but the strength has been leached out of him and his swings are more like pats on the arm now.
“Not fucking helping,” Roman bites out.
“Right.” Emilio gives me his best impression of a serious look. “Drop him, man.”
I quirk a brow. “That the best you got?”
“What the hell are you all standing around for? Get to moving.” Coach shouts, but his voice is far away which means he hasn’t caught sight of Deacon yet.
“Fuck.” That was Emilio.
“Hijo de puta.” And that would be Roman. I’ve heard cabrón out of his mouth enough times to know it basically translates to fucker or smartass, but this one is new.
“What was that?”
“Son of a bitch,” Emilio supplies before adding on a groan, “We are so fucked.”
I glare at Deacon, seeing the fearful panic in his eyes. I sigh and let go. He slumps to the ground, gasping for breath while clawing at his throat. Coach is about halfway across the field, so we have maybe another minute before this becomes an issue. Enough time for Deacon to get his pussy ass off the ground and fall into line.
I crouch down in front of him, balancing on the balls of my feet, and drop a heavy hand on his shoulder. He’s coughing and wheezing, but still manages to look my way, letting me know he’s aware of the very real threat I still pose. “You think my issue is that I’m jealous of a punk like you? I’m not. My problem with you is that you left a bruise on Kasey’s arm and when I told you to stay the fuck away from her, you mouthed off.”
“What the fuck?” Emilio starts, but I block him out.
I’m going to get my point across to this asshole one way or the other. Kasey is off limits, and if he ever lays a hand on her again, I’ll fucking kill him.
I grab his chin with a near bruising grip and force him to look up, his back arching from the ground, but he’s too weak to fight me. “After today. You’re going to pretend you don’t know her. You won’t look at her. You won’t talk to her and you sure as fuck will not touch her. Do you understand?”
He gives a slight nod.
“Good.” I release him and stand. “Because the next time I come for you, it won’t be anywhere with witnesses.”
I stalk toward the field, planning to intercept Coach, when I hear Emilio shout,“Puta madre, Que te Folle un Pez!” and turn just in time to see him slam his fist into Deacon’s face while he’s still on the ground. He knocks him out cold with the single hit.
“What the fuck did that mean?” I ask Roman, a smile curling my lips.
He smirks and tilts his head to the side, thinking. “The literal translation?”
I nod.
“Motherfucker, I hope you get fucked by a fish.”
I choke on a laugh. “What? Why a fish?”
He shrugs as Emilio—worked up and chest heaving like he just ran drills—joins us.
“It’s harsher in Spanish,” Roman adds.
Emilio glares at us both, anger clouding his eyes. “You better start explaining what you meant about him leaving a bruise on Baby Henderson.”
Roman’s eyes narrow, a vicious glint in his eyes as he takes a step toward Deacon, who is still prone on the ground. I grab his jersey and shake my head. “Not now,” I grunt, knowing exactly what he’s thinking and agreeing. One hit isn’t enough to satisfy any of our need for retribution, which is why he never should have gotten in my way.
His mouth tightens, but he concedes. Then, loud enough for a few of our teammates to hear he says. “Any man weak enough to leave a mark on a woman isn’t a man at all. Hunt is going to learn real fucking fast we won’t tolerate abusive assholes on this team.”
A few of the guys nod their heads, gazes sharpening with that information. Lines are being drawn in the sand as we speak, and I for one can’t wait for Deacon to get his next dose of fuck-you medicine.
