Chapter 12

chapter twelve

Davis

"Again"— Noah Cyrus

I can hardly walk as I make my way back out to the party because she sucked the fucking soul out of me through the head of my cock.

I'm like a newborn goddamn foal pushing through the crowd in search of my teammates.

I didn't want to leave her after we met in the bedroom, but she said she wanted to touch up her makeup with Harper and Lily, and that's fair since I smeared that red lipstick all over her when I fucked her face.

Fuck, I almost lost my head tonight when I saw that guy with his hands on her.

Not just because he was touching her but because he was touching her without her permission, after she told him to get his goddamn hands off her.

Only an asshole touches a woman without her permission, and I wanted to fuck him up I was so pissed off, fuck every single one of the consequences.

My pitching hand being the consequence, and also potentially my place on the team, so part of me was thankful that Zara intervened when she did before I ruined my baseball career over that dickhead.

But I would have. For her.

The house is packed tonight, and it takes forever for me to make it to the kitchen to get a drink because I keep getting stopped by everyone. But my mind's not really there. Not after what just happened with Zara and everything that's happened tonight.

I've never really been a relationship kind of guy, but I feel like maybe that's starting to change.

Fuck, I almost killed that asshole tonight, all because he touched her. And not just because he did it without her consent.

Yeah, that alone would have been enough for me to beat the shit out of him, but in that moment, I realized I don't want anyone touching Zara.

The thought of Zara touching anyone else, or anyone touching her, sends jealousy coursing through my veins in a torrential wave.

A feeling I never thought I'd experience because I honestly never thought I'd find anyone who would make me want to have more than one night.

More than friends who occasionally hook up.

Until I met Zara.

It's fucking scary because this was supposed to be no strings attached, a friend-with-benefits kind of thing, but I haven't even looked at another girl since I met her. I haven't wanted to.

Clearly, that means something. We're more than friends who just hook up… I don't know what it is exactly that I want, but what I do know is that I'm not ready for this to end. I want to be selfish and keep her all to myself for as long as she'll let me.

"Rookie, what up, my man," my teammate Theo yells when I walk into the crowded dining room area where the tables have been converted into a heated beer pong tournament.

I walk over to him, taking the blue Solo cup of alcohol he's handing me before we shake hands. "What's up?"

He shrugs as I take a sip, swallowing down the burn of vodka. "Same ole, you know. Ready for baseball to start. I think we've got a good shot this year against Alabama. I can't stand those assholes."

The rivalry that would withstand time, all thanks to Nick Saban.

"Yeah, I think so too," I respond, dragging my attention over to the beer pong table, where a few of my teammates are playing, along with a few guys from the football and hockey teams. I lift a hand, waving to Bennett Breaux, the hockey team's enforcer. We've crossed paths a few times, and the guy is legit the surliest, grumpiest guy I've ever met, but we're still cordial to each other since we run in the same circles.

"You hear from Grant lately?" Theo asks, referencing my best friend, who recently graduated and is playing for the Sea Dogs.

I nod. "Yeah, we text during the week, and he FaceTimed me the other day."

The truth is I miss the shit out of him. I miss pissing him off because he's uptight as fuck, and I miss having him to shoot the shit with about nothing. No one warns you before going to college that you get close to people, and then they abandon you.

Fine, not abandon—graduate, but it's basically the same thing.

We start talking about who we're drafting for the team's fantasy football league this year when someone checks me from behind so hard that I nearly fall over, only catching myself last minute on the wall in front of me before I end up on the floor.

Alcohol splashes over the rim of my cup, all over the front of my T-shirt and jeans, completely soaking my clothes.

What the fuck?

Turning, I see Oliver fucking Andrews standing behind me, wearing a sinister smirk. His green eyes, I'm now realizing since we're standing so close, resemble the same bright emerald as his sister's.

"What the fuck, Andrews?" I spit as I toss my empty cup onto a nearby table. There's nothing left now that I'm fucking wearing it.

"You just couldn't stay away, could you?" He steps closer until the tips of his shoes meet mine and shoves me with both hands. My back slams against the wall with a loud thud that sounds around the room, even over the sound of music pouring from the speakers.

This motherfucker.

I'm going from never getting in fights to almost getting into two tonight. 2 and 0.

"I told you to stay away from Zara. I fucking warned you what would happen if you continued, and you didn't give a shit. You did it anyway. I told you she was off-fucking-limits, but you just couldn't help yourself."

I just shake my fucking head because I'm in disbelief that this shit is evening happening right now. He must have seen us going upstairs together earlier, even though we thought we were being so careful… But fine, if this is what he wants to do, then let's fucking go.

"And I'm pretty sure I recall telling you to mind your own fucking business. You don't make decisions for her, Oliver." I shove him back, not hard enough to knock him on his ass, but hard enough that he stumbles back a few steps. "You sure you wanna do this right now? Right here?"

A dark shadow of determination passes over his face, and he nods, closing the distance between us. "What I want is to fuck you up for touching my sister. I warned you, and you didn't give a shit. I told you this wasn't a game, Guidry. She is my fucking sister, and she is not some toy you can use and throw away when you're done."

"You think I don't know that?" I retort darkly. "Just because you have an opinion about who you think I am doesn't mean I treat Zara with anything less than what she deserves. It's disrespectful as fuck that you're the one here causing a scene instead of talking to me man to man about it."

"Nothing to talk about. You're not fucking with my sister, end of discussion."

This time, I chuckle. The sound is completely humorless and more so to keep me from breaking his nose.

I'm fucking done with this shit, and I'm done with him.

This is the second time we've had this conversation, and nothing has changed. Except maybe my feelings about Zara, and it still has fuck all to do with him.

The fact that he keeps letting the bullshit rivalry as a reason to start shit with me is pissing me the fuck off. Sure, I don't like him and probably never will, but this shit has gone too far. How are we supposed to perform as a team if we can't even stand to be in the same room, if we're fighting over shit at frat parties?

We'll be fucked this season, even if it were both up for the same spot. One of us will be a relief pitcher for the other, and the entire team doesn't jive if guys are at each other's throats.

Fuck this.

"Let's end this shit, right here," I tell him, lifting my chin. "You wanna beat the shit out of me for wanting to be with Zara? Fine. Do it, then get the fuck over it and move on because I'm not going to stop. I know you have a low opinion of me and think I'm just out to fuck her, but that's not true. I like her, Oliver, and I want to do shit the right way. So get your anger out, let's throw a few punches, and move. The. Fuck. On."

I punctuate every syllable, watching his expression change from anger to red-hot fury.

I continue, letting the attention we've garnered fade out. "How do you think this is going to end? Both of us benched for the first game? A suspension from the team for who knows how long? Maybe Coach deciding that neither of us are worth the trouble and giving the starting spot to Rio instead. Maybe you don't care, but this shit has to end. Tonight. So let's do whatever the fuck we can to make sure that happens. Hit me. Do your fucking worst."

I'm taunting him.

Goading him into taking the first punch.

Hopefully, it makes him feel better and resolves whatever is happening in his head because neither of us are walking out of here without ending this shit.

For a beat, he doesn't move. He doesn't speak, he doesn't even fucking breathe by the looks of it, his eyes boring into the hardwood at my feet, and then he drags his gaze to meet mine. "You could've picked anyone in the goddamn world, and you picked my sister. You're a selfish fuck. You're willing to hurt Zara just to get to me. "

Fuck this.

I stride toward him, my steps short as I close the distance and shove him hard. "Fuck you. She's not a goddamn game to me, and I'm fucking sick of hearing you talk about her like she's not capable of making her own decisions. Leave her out of this. You say this bullshit is because of me and her, but let's be real for one second. It's not. This is about you feeling threatened that I'll take the starting spot."

I've been so caught up in the fact that I'm about to potentially fight my teammate and the stupid shit that's coming out of his mouth that I didn't catalog how much of a crowd has gathered around us. Aside from the music still playing, most of the party has gone silent, watching us circling each other.

Great. It'll take one person recording a video for social media, and both of us will be fucked. Coach has been cracking down on us for social media practices, and that's why I've been working so hard to clean my act up so he sees that I'm serious about wanting to earn my spot as a starter.

"I think it's you that feels threatened, Guidry. As much as you bring up that starting spot, seems like you're scared that you're not good enough to get it." He smirks as he dips a shoulder. "Damn, it looks like you're not getting that spot or my fucking sister. Asshole."

He pushes me again, and this time when I return the smile, he rears back and punches me. For a six-foot-two, two-hundred-pound guy, he moves fast as fuck. I barely have time to move before his knuckles land on my brow bone, splitting it open as I stagger back, hitting the wall.

Immediately, I feel the trickle of warm, wet blood as it trails down the spot above my eye and onto my cheek.

The crowd starts chanting, "Fight, fight, fight."

My adrenaline is fucking pumping, and my vision is hazy from anger, and right now, with as mad as I am, I feel like saying fuck the consequences.

Reaching up, I swipe the blood off my face and wipe it onto my jean-covered thighs.

"You wanted a fight, so here you fucking go. Now, hit me back," he taunts, stepping up to me, his chest bumping mine.

I don't even have a chance to return the punch because a five-foot-nothing spitfire with midnight hair and bright green eyes that always seem to take hold of my throat steps between us. "What in the fuck is going on?"