Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
I filled my beer, downed it, then grabbed the nozzle and placed my hands on the metal lid of the keg and nodded at Bell. “Help me out, asshole.” If I had to down the whole fucking keg to get Jade out of my mind, I would.
I ended up drinking myself to the point of passing out, and did I ever pay for that at the next morning’s six am scrimmage.
Sun blazed across the field, and the second I stepped out from the shade of the stadium, the thick Alabama heat made me want to puke.
“All right, boys. Let’s get this show on the road.” Coach blew his whistle, and the team jogged onto the fifty-yard line.
Of course, Brent-fucking-Baker lined up across from me. And that image of him with Jade bubbled like a poisoned cauldron. Jade had asked for a “break.” I gave her space. I’d thought we’d figure it out. But instead, she went to Myrtle Beach with him for the summer. Of course, Monroe had tried to convince me they were just friends, that he was trying to help her through a tough time. Bullshit. Guys aren’t friends with girls—at least not hot girls like Jade. Any guy will take an opportunity if it presents itself, and present itself it did, because they were dating by that fall. Thank God, Jade never came to the games when they were dating. Probably because Baker was a daddy-knows-somebody walk-on who never set foot on the field during a game. That made it easier to ignore that they were together, but now I couldn’t get the thought of him “putting down really good dick” out of my head. And God, did it make me angry.
I glared through my helmet at his stupid face, hating that he’d ended up with the only girl I’d ever wanted. Had he not swooped in that summer and dug in his claws, Jade and I could have worked things out. She would have come back to Dayton, and I never would have ended up dating Nora as a rebound, as a shitty-ass Band-Aid for the bullet wound Jade had left in my heart. If it hadn’t been for that shithead right across from me, Jade would have been there when I needed her most. That dickface motherfucker had screwed up the most important part of my life, and nothing had been right since. Tension bled from my head to my toes. My teeth clamped down on my guard. My fingers dug into the damp ground. I wanted to kill the fucker.
Williams, the team’s safety, got in line beside me, and Coach blew the whistle.
I charged ahead, ramming my shoulder into Brent’s pad and knocking him to the ground harder than necessary. His helmet cracked against the grass. Spittle flew from his mouth when his mouthguard shot out, and when the little pussy groaned and rolled into the fetal position, it took everything in me not to spit on him.
Williams offered Brent his hand and hoisted him to his feet. “What the hell, Brookes?” he shouted.
“Dude, not my fault.” I shrugged a shoulder before taking my place again. “He’s lighter than a piece of shit.”
For the rest of practice, every time I looked at him, I thought about him being the guy Jade “had loved” when it used to be me. That made me want to rip his head from his scrawny shoulders, but since that would be murder, I chose to sack him every chance I got.
Coach blew the whistle, signaling the end of practice. I tore off my helmet, wiping sweat from my brow as I jogged off with the rest of the players.
I’d made it halfway across the field before Coach called my name. “Need to talk to you for a minute, son.”
I broke away from the rest of the team, noticing the annoyed scowl on Coach’s face. If I had to guess, he was going to ream me for knocking dickface too hard. A small price to pay for the satisfaction it had granted me. “Yeah, Coach?”
He motioned for me to take a seat on the bench. “Think that’s the first time your ass has touched that cold metal, isn’t it?”
I sat my helmet beside me. “Think so.”
“You know why? Because you’re a damn good player, Brookes. Gotta bright future ahead of you.” He paused to spit his chewing tobacco into the Big Gulp cup he always carried with him at practice. “I had a conversation with Professor Thompson this morning.” Another brown dribble of spit flew into the cup.
I knew exactly where this was going. My grade in algebra was shit. As if the hangover and unsolicited porno reel that had been playing through my mind weren’t already enough.
“I can pull it up.” That was a lie. I’d screwed around too much over the last year, put myself on a course of self-destruction in order to emotionally survive my dad dying and Jade… There was no way I was pulling that grade up outside of a miracle. I knew it, and by the way Coach’s bushy, gray brow lifted, he knew it, too.