Chapter Twelve

"One hell of a game." Remy's dad slaps me on the back as we leave the locker room.

I fight back the urge to wince at the pain that shoots through my shoulder at the contact. I'll take care of it when I get in my car. That goodie bag wasn't only for the party. Over the summer, I fucked my shoulder up. There was no way I could get it treated. No way to explain why I was where I was doing what I was doing. Mom and that asshole she calls her husband would have taken my car. My only source of freedom.

"Yeah," I mutter, but he's already focused his attention on his own son. Of course, my mom is at work and if John was here, he's not sticking around to pretend we're buds or that he gives a fuck about me as long as to the outside world we have a picture perfect life. I hit the parking lot, dragging my gear with me to toss in the trunk, when I spot Britney leaning against the driver's side door waiting for me. What the fuck does she want?

"Hey," she sneers, flipping her hair over her shoulder all snottily.

I roll my eyes, ignoring her as I unlock the trunk and toss my gear in.

"I'm talking to you."

"And?" I say, dryly.

"That's all you have to say?"

"What do you want?"

"It won't last. This little game you're playing."

"I stopped playing with you, remember?"

"You think you're real cute having your little puppet wear my shirt, don't you?"

"I have no clue who or what you're talking about, and I really don't give a fuck."

"You thought it would make me jealous."

"Sounds like I succeeded then."

"I'm with Brick now," she announces, as though I should care.

Dude is a loser. Graduated two years ago and is still stuck in this town working the same shitty job he's had since he was fourteen, working for his old man's lawn care business. His life is shit. Literally.

"Good for you. I guess." I shove past her to get into my car.

"What? You aren't going to tell me that he's a loser? That I can do better?"

"He can do better. There. Happy now?"

"Oh fuck you, Kyson."

"I'm not interested in whatever you're selling."

"I hate you."

"I would tell you the feeling is mutual, but to be honest, I don't think enough of you to feel something for you. As far as I'm concerned, you're just some skank I fucked when I was hard up."

"You're such an asshole."

"We've established that. Now, if you're done wasting my time, I have a party to get to."

"Run away. That's what you're good at doing."

"At least I'm good at it," I mutter and get in my car. I rev my engine and she jumps as I squeal out of the parking lot. As I'm speeding away, I pass by my pretty little doll and her dorky friend. Only now do I figure out what Britney was all worked up about. I laugh and shake my head.

Dahlia is full of surprises. I should offer her a ride to the party, but I'll see her soon enough. It's Friday night after the game. There are only two places they'll go. The beach or the party. Lauren is a wannabe. I'm betting they'll be at the party.

On my way there, I stop by the gas station and grab an energy drink so I can take one of the painkillers I scored. I only take them after a big game. No harm, no foul. The only good thing about Britney was after my games, I could always count on her to take my mind off shit with sex.

At the thought of sex, my mind drifts back to Dahlia in that shirt with my number on the back. Was she making a statement? Hoping I'd see? If things go my way tonight, I'll have her down on her knees gagging. Begging me like she did in my dreams last night.

"Good game. Was listening to it over the radio," the clerk tells me and slips a bottle of vodka in my bag.

One of the many perks of being a football god in this town. I could get away with murder as long as I take us to state.

"Think we'll see another state title?"

I have no clue who this guy is, but he gave me free liquor, so I entertain him. "No doubt." If my shoulder holds up. Fuck me if that IF isn't big. Football is my one shot of making it out of here and I hate it.

"Hell yeah, man. That's what I'm talking about. You off to a party?"

"Something like that."

"Fuck, I miss high school. Bet you get a lot of pussy. Am I right?"

"Can't keep track." I toss some bills onto the counter, ready to get going. "Take it easy, man."

"Listen, before you go. Where's the party at?"

He's got to be kidding. The dude looks at least forty. "Not sure. The parties kind of find me, if you get what I mean." I snatch the plastic bag and dip out before he can start up another conversation and ask me to hook him up with a cheerleader. Britney would probably do him.

Bitch will fuck anyone who gives her attention.

In the parking lot, I spot the wannabe pumping gas as Dahlia stares at her phone in the passenger seat. I tap on the hood. "Yo. We're wanted at home," I lie, having no damn clue why I'm doing it. "Come on. You can just ride with me."

Lauren frowns as Dahlia swings her door open.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever."

I smile to myself in victory.

"I'll text you later. Have fun at the party," she tells the dork.

"I'll probably just go home. Don't want to show up alone."

I feel like an ass, but not enough to truly give a fuck.

"Next time. Though, hey. Maybe we can hang out tomorrow," she offers, and I roll my eyes.

I've got to find her a better friend and plan to tell her as much once she's in my car.

They talk for a second while I start up my car. I rev my engine, signaling her to come the hell on. Dahlia struts toward my car, hips swaying in time with the swish of her ponytail that I'd like to wrap my fist up in and yank on as I hit her from the back.

The fantasy flashes through my head as she slides into the passenger seat. Not giving her time to secure her seat belt, I veer onto the highway, driving us in the opposite direction of all our friends and home. I already gave the drugs for the party over to Gauge and Remy. They won't even miss me.

"Where are we going?" my pretty little doll questions and I ignore her. Because I don't have an answer. I simply drive as the wind blows through her hair. "I thought you said we had to go home. Late for curfew or whatever."

Reaching into the bag in my lap, I hand her the bottle of vodka. "Open it."

"No. You're not drinking and driving me."

"Do you always have to be so damn difficult? Such a good girl?"

"No," she grumbles.

"Right. Only thought you'd like to cut loose and have a drink without everyone watching and judging." And maybe a few drinks before bed will help her to sleep. Last night I awoke to her crying out in her sleep. She must have been having a nightmare. I climbed into bed with her and held her until her breathing evened out. I doubt she even knew I was there. If she remembers she hasn't brought it up.

Her eyes are on me, but I keep my focus on the road, deciding at the last minute to take her to the old church. Her fingers peel at the red wrapper, flinging the scraps out the window.

"You didn't strike me as a litterer."

"I can be bad on occasion." She takes a swig, making a horrified sound. "That's disgusting."

"Wait and I'll give you something to pour it in."

"A little warning would have been nice."

"You ever been drunk, Dahlia?"

She shakes her head as I park.

Another secret between us.

Another first.

My heart beat drums against my chest. She's going to be the death of me. I want all of her firsts. What is it about her that has me needing to consume her while wanting to shred her to pieces in the process?