Page 55 of Hateful
“Again,” he insists.
So I do it again. And again. And again, never going over thirteen and a half seconds. By the end of it, I’m panting, red-faced, sweaty—but grinning up at Beck as I catch my breath, watching the scowl twisting his face.
“Well, it’s not like it’s an Olympic track,” Beck mutters finally. “If it was—”
“He’d still take the curve faster than you,” Heath points out. “He’s our best chance at winning.”
Jasper nods in agreement, if a bit reluctantly. “After the debate, we really can’t lose.”
Beck’s eyes turn fiery. He turns to me and jams his finger into my chest. “Don’t think this changes anything,” he growls. “You’re still my—our—bitch.” He turns and stalks back across the track to the locker room.
Jasper smiles at me, but I don’t return it. Heath slaps me on the back and drapes his arm around my shoulders.
“Come on, Flash,” he says happily. “Let’s get you into a shower.”
But I’m not thinking about Heath or showers.
I’m thinking about Beck.
I’m thinking about the way I felt another rush—a very different kind of rush—at the thought of beinghisbitch.
Not The Brotherhood’s bitch. Beck’s.
If the way my stomach flutters is any indication, his little slip of the tongue is going to get me in trouble.
Chapter Nineteen
There’ssomething strangely nostalgic about practice with The Brotherhood again.
But unlike the last time I spent this much time with all three of them, the practices actually go pretty well.
Grabbing the baton isn’t as easy as it looks. I have to start running before Heath even gets to me with it, but we master our handoff pretty easily. I have more and more issues with Beck.
I shoot around the curve for what feels like the hundredth time this afternoon; the stadium lights have come on, letting us know that the sun is almost completely set. We’ve moved outside to the actual track now that the weather has warmed up enough. Ahead of me, I see Beck’s tall form start to jog as I get closer, his left hand reaching back, fingers outstretched.
I push myself to sprint a little faster, stretching my arm out, slapping the baton into his palm. His fingers wrap around it, gripping it tight before he launches himself forward with the momentum he’s gathered, and—drops it. The baton hits the ground with an unceremoniousthump.
“Beck!” I yell in frustration, the first time I’ve spoken in an hour. I’ve just been letting the boys tell me what to do. This is their competition, after all, and the last thing I’m going to do is get myself in trouble withthemover something I frankly don’t give a shit about.
Well, outside of my own innate competitiveness thanks to the four brothers I grew up with.
Beck, meanwhile, doesn’t seem keen to take responsibility for anything. Not with me here.
“It’syourfault!” he yells back as soon as he’s able to whirl around to face me.
But I’m not having it. “I put it directly into your hand,” I snap. “You can’t blame this one on me.”
He grits his teeth as he snatches the baton up off the ground with a hiss before stomping off to clear his head.
“If this handoff doesn’t get done, we’re toast,” Jasper moans after a second. This isn’t the first time this has played out the same way.
Heath sighs and runs his hands through his hair, which is damp from sweat. “Let’s call it a night. We can pick this up on Thursday.”
“The race is Saturday,” Beck snaps angrily, whirling back once more to face all three of us this time. “And we don’t have practice tomorrow because of my remedial exam.”
Remedial exam?
My ears prick up at the sound of it. Beck’s smart. He’s the last person I expected to be doing make-up exams. Usually The Brotherhood just has to bat an eyelash in the professor’s direction and suddenly they don’t need to retake the test at all.
