Eaton Beaver
Buster Himen
Ima Hoare
I take a deep inhale.
Assholes.
After running a long-suffering hand down my face, I carry the clipboard back into the office. Gwen’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt, but her legs are still bare underneath and her hair is still wet, a dark lump that’s been twisted into a knot on top of her head. I get this sudden, weird feeling at the notion that I’m the only one who can see her like this, all crazy-eyed and sexy-frumpy, storming around.
Her wild-eyed look of fury transforms into a narrow scowl when she sees me. “I told you,” she growls, thrusting a finger at me, “I told you I didn’t want to do this. And now, look!”
I toss the clipboard on the desk. “Are you forgetting the fact that we’re in high school? They’re assholes. Everyone in high school is an asshole. It’s not a big deal.”
“No one respects me. They think I’m a joke. If they’re not mocking me loudly enough to barely be considered ‘behind my back’, then they’re doing shit like this. There’s no point in me being co-captain if no one wants to listen to me.” She exhales, all of the anger seeming to drain out of her at once. “You want this title so bad, then you take it.”
Oh, if only. Coach made it clear it’s both of us or neither of us. “Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?”
Her arms cross over her chest, making the hem of her shirt rise. It’s a legitimate battle not to drop my gaze to the milky expanse of her thighs. “You wouldn’t understand. None of them ever step out of line with you! Like today. You speak and they jump. Even Heston follows your orders.”
“Jesus, get off the cross, Adams.” I roll my eyes. “I didn’t ask to be in charge of the Devils. It’s not like it’s the best thing to ever happen to me, either. They might be quick to look to me for leadership, but I also know that when something goes wrong, they’re just as quick to blame me for it. Like, fucking Xavier, right?” I gesture behind me, even knowing he’s not here. “When my dad forced me to move onto campus, his parents figured... hey, why not? If the Bateses can do it, so can we. So now he’s looking at me like it’s my fault. Do I take the blame? Hell no. Do I act guilty? Not a chance. Like, Jesus, if they only knew—”
My mouth snaps shut, lips forming a grim line.
She tilts her head curiously. “Knew what?”
About what you and me do together. About my moments of weakness.
No, I can’t give her that leverage. “Nothing. If you ask me, you need to just not let it bother you so much. You getting all worked up like this is just blood in the water. And while we’re at it, the other extreme isn’t much better.”
“What other extreme?” She seems genuinely interested.
“That thing where you turn into a fucking robot. It’s weird! If you walk around acting inhuman, that’s exactly how they’re going to treat you. Just act normal. Casual. If they don’t think you care, they’ll chill out. But at the same time, don’t let them run you over. I’m not sitting next to a co-captain with no balls.”
Her eyebrow raises and I see a hint of a smile on her face. “I don’t have balls, Bates, you of all people should know that.”
Our eyes hold one another for a moment and that flicker of energy ebbs between us. I pull at the tape and yank off the ice. “Put on some pants,” I say, halfway to get out of this little room, halfway because I have a genius idea, “and come with me.”
“Where are we going?” she asks warily.
“If these jackoffs want to play games, then they picked the wrong people.” I pick up the clipboard and wink.
13
Gwen
“This is your car?” I ask, running my hands over the smooth leather. I’m not one of those girls who gets all hot for nice cars, but if I were? I’d probably be fanning myself or something. The leather smells new and the seat warmer is making me warm and all relaxed—a perk after being in the water for practice. It usually takes me an hour to shake the chill.
“Yep.” He flashes me a smug grin. “Technically I’m not allowed to drive it anywhere but home. But this is an official team duty, so I feel like it qualifies as acceptable.”
Between the comfy seat and the exhaustion of a crappy practice, I don’t even have it in me to muster anything more snide than a sarcastic smile when I say, “You can justify anything, can’t you?”
His eyes sweep over me so furtively, that if I would have blinked, I might have missed it. He hums in response,
clearing his throat. That weird feeling I keep getting in my belly around Hamilton these days starts swelling up. It’s some unholy mixture of excitement, nausea, and embarrassment. I just don’t even know what’s going on with me and Hamilton right now. Every interaction we have is fraught with so many conflicting emotions, it’s like daily whiplash.
“Where are we going again?” I casually ignore what his reaction seems to be suggesting. Hamilton can justify a lot. But he can’t justify what he does with me any more than I can.