Inside the locker room, Blaze’s naked ass does the Whip and Nae Nae as several hoots and cackles come from the team.
“Get in gear,” I call out as I saunter by out of the shower and slap him on
the butt with my towel. “We have to be in class in thirty.”
He keeps on dancing, hyper as hell, and I grin, glad he makes that energy work for him on the field as our star wide receiver.
Making my way to the lockers, my gaze lands on the golden wildcat statue that serves as the bet award and sits inside the glass trophy case on the far wall. My mood plummets. I take in the white board on the wall where the bets are listed. The one with Penelope is now there: Ask Penelope Graham out and get a YES: Completed. Points were given to Archer, Blaze, and Dillon, who bet that I couldn’t. I have a giant goose egg.
The ketchup bet isn’t listed since it wasn’t players against players.
Coach Alvarez stomps into the locker room wearing a don’t tell me you’re screwing off expression on his square face. Slashing bushy eyebrows accentuate his brown eyes as they spear every player in sight. His voice careens around the room. “Turn that fucking music off!” A mouthy man with a barrel chest and dark skin, Coach loves football—and cursing. “And why are y’all still in this goddamn locker room? Get the hell out of here and get to class.”
My teammates pick up the pace, rummaging around in their lockers.
“You know the drill. I expect you back at three for practice with your heads on straighter than they were this morning. I need to see some fucking teamwork. You looked terrible out there. Get your shit together and stop acting like girls in a hair-pulling hissy fit. Our first game is this fucking Friday.”
A few players hang their head. Yeah, we had a few scuffles on the field, a late hit and some shoving on the defense. Things aren’t right with our team, and it’s because our star defensive player, Maverick, is gone. Regret tugs at me, and I wonder if there was anything else I could have done to stop him from fighting last year.
Coach’s militant gaze pins me. “Remember, Ryker’s your captain. Listen to him and don’t bring your shit onto the field. Got it?”
I nod. Coach and I get each other. We both want a championship this year, especially after the fiasco last spring.
“What about the defense, Coach?” It’s Archer’s voice, and I swivel my head toward him. “Don’t we get a captain?”
Coach crosses his arms. “Maverick’s your captain.”
Archer shrugs and lifts his hands. “Yeah, but he’s gone for three games because of the NCAA ruling. Can’t even practice with us.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “With all due respect, sir, Ryker doesn’t cut it for us. He knew what Maverick was doing and didn’t tell anyone.” His eyes are on me. “He was there at every fight Maverick participated in and should have stopped him.”
My blood pressure spikes and my fists clench. I take a step toward Archer, but Coach holds his hand up at me, warning me to chill out. He looks back at Archer. “That was last year and this is a new season. We’re moving on. What’s your point, son?”
Archer straightens his shoulders. “Moving on is exactly right, sir. We’d like to elect our own captain—for the defense. It might be good for morale.”
That sonofabitch. He thinks he can just slide in and take Maverick’s place? I want to spit nails. No one can replace Maverick. Archer is just manipulating Coach to get what he wants.
“I’ve been talking to the defense, and they want me in charge.” Archer takes another step until he’s standing at the front of the team.
Coach looks around, his gaze taking in faces, trying to read us. “Is that so?”
Some of the defensive guys nod.
Coach thinks for a moment. “If the defense wants it, that’s good enough for me, but when Maverick comes back, you’ll need to work it out amongst yourselves. This isn’t a competition, boys. It’s a team. Got it?” Coach looks at me. “You good with this, Ryker?”
Fuck no. I think Archer is a piece of shit, but what can I say that doesn’t sound like I don’t have the best interests of the team in mind? My jaw pops. “I’m with you, sir.”
He nods. “All right. Let’s do it and move on. Got it?” “Yes sir!” I say with several others.
He puffs up his chest. “Now get the fuck out of here and get to class.” I nod in agreement and do my best to shake off the practice.
I need time to process the new Archer situation.
His face appears behind me as I style my hair in the mirror. My lips thin. “What do you want?” I say.
“Now, now, take it easy, number one,” he says in his lilting accent. “I’m not trying to ruffle your feathers, just dropping by to say your arm looked real good out there today.” He grins. “We’re captains now. We need to pep each other up, keep our teams running smooth.” He holds up his hands at my glare. “Just sayin’. I’m impressed, especially considering how spectacularly you got
shot down yesterday. I figured your confidence would be in shambles today.” He makes an exploding sound and moves his hands, mimicking a blast. A grin flashes on his face. “She. Nailed. Your. Ass.”
A muscle twitches in my jaw. Archer has a knack of knowing what to say to piss me off.
“Goddamn, but she’s a hot one,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind taking that out for a ride.” He grinds his hips as if he’s screwing. “Oh yeah, baby.”
I flip around to face him, my face hard as stone. “You wanna try me, asshole?”
He reads me loud and clear and stops his grinding.
Yeah, that’s right, my eyes say. Pussy. He might be our fastest cornerback, a big and capable player, but I’m taller and meaner and I fucking want it more, whatever it may be. I always have. Since the moment I walked out on the field for my first high school game as a freshman and smelled the grass, felt the bright lights of the stadium, I knew football was my dream.
I snatch my Wildcats shirt out of my gym bag and slip it over my head. I shove on my khaki joggers and forgo my sneakers for a pair of leather flip- flops.
“Losing that bet still bothers you,” he murmurs, hovering around me. “I don’t blame you, because honestly, who turns down Ryker Voss? And this girl, I mean—she hates you.” A gruff laugh comes out of him. “I’ve been replaying that restaurant scene all damn day. It’s like a movie in my head that I can’t turn off.”
I ignore him and throw my towel in the bin then bend over to pick up my dirty practice clothes and put them in my bag.
He holds a finger up. “I’ve been thinking…a girl like that, with all that fire…I really wanna go for it. Know what I mean? Tame her. Maybe wine and dine her then fuck her so good she begs me to never leave.” He chuckles, his eyes sharpening. “That is, if you’re okay with me moving in on her?”
A switch is thrown inside me, and it isn’t so much about Penelope as it is about everything that’s happened over the past few months. The thing is, I’ve been at a tipping point since the scandal. I wasn’t docked games like Maverick, but I was investigated and lost any chance at the Heisman Award. You have to have a spotless rep to be named the best player in college football and, well, let’s be honest…my name is pure shit in the media right now. That ship has sailed, and my anger and disappointment have been simmering for months, only heightening now that school is back in session, and I have to face everything and deal with it.
I’m not the golden boy everyone likes to describe me as. And all I want to do right now is take it out on Archer’s face.
My chest rises rapidly as I throw a quick look around the room, checking for any coaches, and when I don’t see one, I move fast, getting up in his space
and pushing my hand into his chest until he’s pinned against the concrete wall.
He briefly squirms to try to get away from me, but it isn’t going to work. When he sees that he can’t get loose, he settles for puffing out his chest. “I didn’t know you cared so much about her.”
My open palm slaps against the concrete behind him. “This isn’t about her. This is about you maneuvering to be captain. Please. You’ll never take Maverick’s place. Just stay out of my way. Got it?”
Blaze appears at my right, a hand on my bicep as he tugs on me, but I’m immovable. This little fight has been building for months. “Dude, let him go.”
“Get out of my face, Blaze,” I say, my eyes not wavering from Archer’s. “You’re a leader, man. You can’t be pushing people around,” he says,
bouncing around us.
I grit my teeth. “We’re playing like shit. No one cares. Why should I?”
“I care, man.” Blaze looks around for help, but the rest of the team is silent, waiting. I feel their eyes on me. Hell, everyone is watching me. All the damn time. I’m sick of it.
“This is exactly what Coach was talking about.” He gives Archer a glare. “Plus, Archer was just kidding, right?”
He nods and attempts to raise his hands in mock surrender. “All I’m saying is it looked like you have a thing for her.”
“I don’t.” I move in closer and put my nose to his. “And if I really wanted her, I could have her.” The words feel wrong, but I can’t pull them back. The truth is, part of me was wired up and excited during the bet—excited to see if she’d say yes. What if she had?
Would I have stood her up? Maybe. I don’t know.
A sly expression grows in Archer’s eyes. “Prove it.” I frown. What the hell is he talking about?
“Prove it,” he repeats, louder and with a bit of shrill in his tone. He looks around at the players. “Everyone listen up. We’re going to have us a doozy of a bet—one we don’t put on the board.”
My jaw twitches again. “I’m not playing your games.”
“The bets are good for the team. We’ve been doing it for years,” someone says, and I see most of the players nodding. A few rumble amongst themselves.
“…yeah, Ryker…”
Archer smirks and gives me a victorious look. “I bet you can’t tap that, number one. I bet you can’t score that girl before homecoming. Defense against offense for the whole shebang. If you lose, the whole offense loses. Got it?”
Some of the offensive players agree and clap me on the back, offering words of encouragement.
“You got this, dude.” “Easy peasy.”
“Don’t you want that trophy?”
I eye the guys surrounding me, reading their excitement, and tension wraps around me. My teeth grind together. A bet to fuck a girl is not in my wheelhouse.
I release Archer with a push.
He gives me a hard look, one that tells me he isn’t going to let this bet go. “It’s all up to you, number one. If you want to win that trophy, you’ve got to bang Penelope.” He curls his lip. “I don’t think you can do it.”
Bang Penelope.
My gut tightens and my fists curl at his crude words. Penelope and I may not like each other, but I do respect her, and I don’t like him talking about her like she’s a piece of meat.
“Fuck off, Archer.” I give him and everyone a final glare then stalk out of the locker room with Blaze on my heels.
“Come on, man,” he says as we walk out of the field house. “What’s so bad about the bet? I don’t think she hates you. There’s something between you and her already.”
I frown. “No, there isn’t.” “I disagree.”
I give him side-eye and he shrugs. “What? Everybody thinks I don’t notice shit because I’m spastic, but it looked pretty steamy behind that plant before she dumped the water on you. She was into you.” He sighs as we walk to the parking lot to get in our cars. “Besides, wouldn’t it be awesome to get one over on Archer? It would bug the shit out of him.”
I get to my black Chevy truck and unlock it with the clicker.
He watches me. “Dude, take one for the team. Ask her out again. Hell, you never know, you might really like her.”
“Nope. Not interested.” I motion to the passenger side. “Now, do you need a ride to class or what? You don’t need to miss that upper level psych class. I saw the F you got on your paper. Focus, man—we need to keep those grades up. What if the NFL doesn’t work out?”
“Yes, Mom, I’m going to class.” He exhales and gets in the truck. “I just don’t see why you won’t at least play along.”
“Football isn’t fun and games,” I tell him as I crank the vehicle. “It’s serious shit and we can’t screw it up. The draft is coming, and everyone’s watching us.”
“You thought the ketchup was fun.” I sigh.
“You like annoying her,” he adds in a singsong voice. “Maybe.”
He exhales.
We pull out of the parking lot, and I should be thinking about my next class, but in the back of my mind I’m still replaying Archer’s wager in my head.
I bet you can’t score that girl before homecoming.
