His tone brooks no room for argument, though it’s the aura of pissed off radiating from a player known for being one of the most level-headed that has the rest of the team closing in.
“I’m sure this request won’t come as too much of a hardship for you…” He pauses to make eye contact with each of his guys. “You can think of it”—his mouth twists to the side, his head tilting left then right in thought—“as extra motivation.”
Over the crowd gathered in front of him, Kev meets my eye, and the dangerous smirk on his lips has me grateful we play for the same team. I jerk my chin in brotherhood.
“Tonight we bring the pain to number eighty-five.” Kev folds his arms over his refrigerator-sized chest. “He’s messed with one of our own and needs to be taught a lesson.” This time when he flicks his gaze to me, a few heads turn in my direction. “Tonight…if he’s tackled under you, make sure you toss out a nice ‘That’s for Kay.’”
“Nova’s girl?” one of our D-backs asks.
“Yes,” I answer.
“It’s time we remind this motherfucker,” Kev declares, “no one fucks with a Hawk without facing the rest of the flock.”
At some point after Kev’s little inspirational speech, Coach Knight emerged from his office to tell us to “calm the fuck down” and to “save that energy for the field”.
Shortly after that, Trav showed me the most recent repost on UofJ411, this one a shot of where I collect my pregame kiss from my girl.
My annoyance over the invasion of privacy is overridden by my worry that maybe E’s concerns weren’t an overreaction. I need more information.
ME: I need to know how much of a risk Liam Parker really is.
My fingers drum on the back of my phone as I wait for JT to respond to my text.
CHEER BOY: Oooo, you said his name.
Not the response I was hoping for.
ME: So???
CHEER BOY: *GIF of Lord Voldemort*
ME: You two and your whole He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named stuff.
CHEER BOY: Don’t you dare judge us *waggles finger* You, sir, are a Potterhead as well.
Smartasses. I’m surrounded by smartasses.
ME: Fine. I concede. Now can we talk about the asshat?
CHEER BOY: Sure. The douche-canoe is a pussy.
I bark out a laugh, which draws Trav’s attention, and Mr. Nosey Nelson leans to the side to read over my shoulder.
ME: I know you asked your boy to escort Kay to the tunnels.
CHEER BOY: You’re talking about King playing chaperone for when PF meets you to shove her tongue down your throat for “luck”?
CHEER BOY *GIF of Bugs Bunny kissing Michael Jordan*
“I’m coming with you next time you go to Kentucky—this guy seems like my kind of people,” Trav says, pointing at my phone.
Just what I need, these two teaming up.
ME: James Taylor!
The use of his full name has my phone buzzing with a FaceTime call instead of a text. I swipe to answer but hold up a finger to tell him I need a minute to find somewhere quieter, more private.
I slip into one of the unused physio rooms and wait until I hear the door click behind me before saying, “Okay, talk to me.”
JT eyes me from the six-inch screen. He’s in his UK cheerleading uniform, and behind him I recognize the practice gym. “I would have been more impressed if you dropped my middle name in there, but I’m not quite sure I’m grasping what you’re asking?”
Honestly…I’m not either. Maybe I’m letting my feelings breed paranoia.
“Why did you ask King specifically? Why not Grayson? He’ll be at the game.” This is the part I can’t make sense of.
“Ugh.” JT groans and runs a hand through his dark red hair. “Look…” He blows out a breath. “Neither one of us has enough time to get into the nitty-gritty of it, but the CliffsNotes version is King has a lot of…shall we say…power in our town.”
“Why?” I jump in to ask.
“That’s not important.” He waves off my concern. “What is, is that I believe if for some reason you guys do run into Liam, the sight of Carter might be a strong enough message to keep him in line.”
I don’t know what bothers me more, the thought of having a run-in with Liam or that he might be more of a threat than I realize. Why else would someone “powerful” be needed?
#Chapter57
U of J vs Penn State.
Rivalry game.
Black Out.
Winner takes the East Division of the Big Ten.
All week, the sportscasters have speculated, deeming it the game of the season.
If only they knew how this is so much more than a simple rivalry game.
From the things Mase has told me, there was bad blood between him and Liam before I entered his life. Now though? Learning about my own history with the twatwaffle combined with the recent taunts to drum up drama—using me—it makes this personal for Mase.
“I feel like I’m attending a funeral with all this black,” King comments over the brim of his Espresso Patronum to-go cup.
I side-eye him as we weave our way through the underbelly of the football stadium, not appreciating the parallels he’s drawing at the moment.
“Listen, Your Majesty”—his lips twitch at the nickname—“I love this game, so don’t hate.”
We flash our badges at the last security guard before the locker rooms and I shoot off a text to let Mase know.
“I would have thought you of all people would like it, King.” Matte black is the signature color of the Royals.
He chuckles then I think he gestures that he’s going to hang back, but I can’t be too sure because the doors to the locker room swing open and out walks my hot-as-fuck boyfriend. Holy shit! Seeing him in his football uniform never fails to turn me on, but
