Page 41 of Kickoff

He snorted. “Yeah, right. You’re Mr. Popular and Superstar all wrapped up in one. There are guys with way less going on for them. Just sayin’, man.”

“Like you can complain. You’ve been dating girls since before you even hit puberty.”

He pointed to himself. “I’m a good catch. What can I say?”

His previous words hit me. “Landon asked Mel?” I took a sip of water to flush the sour taste from my mouth, trying to act as if I didn’t care. “What did she say?” My heart squeezed in my chest at the idea they would go together and perhaps end up dating. “I didn’t know he had a thing for her,” I spoke the words through clenched teeth, unable to relax my jaw as images I would prefer to never imagine invaded my head.

“Don’t know. Why would you care?”

I shrugged and stretched my legs on the chair opposite mine. Lunch hour was almost over, and most people had left to pick up books from their lockers before classes resumed. “I don’t. It’s just…unexpected. That’s all.”

“The girl is hot,” Chase said. “Why would he not?”

“Yeah…well… You might be right.”

“Like hell I am. I’m always right.” He jumped to his feet. “I’m out of here. I gotta make a pit stop at the admin office before the next period. I lost my student ID.”

“Again? We’re only one month into the first semester and you’ve lost it twice so far.”

“Told you already. The new girl working at the reception is a nice piece of ass. What can I say? My eyes can’t get enough. That rack she’s trying to hide under those blouses.” He brought his joined thumb and forefinger to his mouth in a chef’s kiss gesture. “Divine.”

“Fucker.”

He chuckled. “See you later.” We fist-bumped, and he sauntered away with a pep in his step that only his infatuation over a girl could explain.

I perused the almost-empty cafeteria, my gaze snagged by one of the girls sitting at the far-end table gathering her stuff. Melinda pushed her brown hair behind her shoulders and smiled at something Page said. When her gaze drifted in my direction, a new tightness grew in my chest. We eyed each other from a distance, neither of us breaking the contact.

Like an idiot, I waved at her. What else could I do when I was too late to ask her to Homecoming? Unless Landon got abducted by aliens or changed schools, I had no chance of accompanying her. How stupider could I get? Seriously, I never shied away from asking a girl out before. I was losing my touch around Melinda Shepard. Big time.

I studied her, wondering why she hadn’t told me she was going with him. Sure, we’d been talking more since her appendectomy, but I was right in thinking our friendship needed a stronger foundation to blossom. Still, the idea of watching her and Landon together all night strangled my insides. I was pretty sure I would lose it if his lips ever connected with hers.

Melinda waved back, rescuing me from my drowning thoughts about her kissing some other guy, before walking away with Paige and their friends. I watched her retreat, admiring her strong set of swimmer shoulders and that tight ass in those jeans. And I missed the time when I was her official book bag carrier for the week it lasted. Back then, I had an excuse to talk to her. Unlike now.

I wouldn’t attend the dance. I preferred missing it to being miserable all night if I had to invite anyone else. My stomach churned just thinking about Melinda dancing with Landon, knowing she would pamper herself for hours just for him.

Not a chance.

Fucking bastard.

The gears of my brain overheated as I chastised myself. Why did I wait so long to ask her to the dance? Why had I been so chickenshit, to begin with?

If I could kick my own ass, I would do it without any hesitation.

I emptied my tray into the nearest trash can, grabbed my stuff, and made my way out of the nearly deserted cafeteria.

Not in a hurry to meet my friends, I dragged my feet toward my locker. Three girls stopped me to inquire if I had a date for Homecoming—very subtle—and a guy from the school paper asked questions about our next game.

Realization hit me. I was Mason Pierce, captain of the football team and their beloved quarterback. Everyone expected me to show up at the homecoming dance and be a role model for the rest of the student body. For a moment, I wished I was all but famous in these hallways and was a regular Joe that nobody cared about. Except one person. I passed a row of lockers and punched the first door, regretting it when pain shot down my arm.

I couldn’t injure myself. Not now. Not when we were playing Cowley High, our biggest rival, a little over a week from now. I had to be at the top of my game. They were a bunch of sick bastards, always eager to fight and cheat to claim a victory. I had told my teammates that being the better guys would make the victory sweeter in our eyes. Hurting myself was not how we would win that game.

And if the word had gotten out to Copperman that I had slept with his girl last summer, they’d be out for blood—my blood.

“Fuck my life,” I said as I grabbed books from my locker, pushed the thought of Melinda and Homecoming far away, and sauntered toward my next class, pumping myself up for tomorrow’s game instead of thinking about next week’s.

12

I wouldn’t kiss you, even under torture