Epilogue

West

Winter break was over. Now what?

As I stared out at the field, that question repeated in my head. There wasn't an official practice going on, but he was out there, honing his skills and showing off. He had a perfect throw. I did too, but like Kai said, it wasn't a competition.

I kind of wanted it to be. Lincoln Porter was a god at this school and he was graduating this year. That was good for me. It meant that I would take his spot, which was exactly what I'd been brought here to do.

So, why was I dying to take that ball from him and prove that I was better?

He stopped running and took labored breaths. Pussy.

When he raised his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, my gaze dropped to his washboard abs. The guy was huge- bigger than me. His chocolate brown hair had those voluminous waves that made it sit perfectly on his head, like some fancy crown telling everyone that he ruled this place.

Apparently, drying his face wasn't good enough. He stripped out of the shirt entirely, leaving him in just a pair of basketball shorts that hung low on his hips. I stared at the sharp curve of his pelvis and the way it made his abs look more pronounced.

He looked in my direction, meeting my eyes. I didn't back down. It would make me seem weak.

As he continued to stare, I tried to read something in his expression. This dickhead called me over the holidays, shitfaced and raging about how much he hates me. He called me an attention whore. Who does that? I had no idea if he remembered it and his face wasn't giving me any answers.

With a frustrated huff, I jumped to my feet and marched toward him. He tucked the ball under his arm, watching me approach.

"What's your deal, puppy?"

"Stop calling me that," I growled.

A smirk played on his lips. "If you're not following your bestie around, you're getting territorial over a football. Do you get off on watching me?"

"Do you get off on making drunk phone calls?"

His eyes widened briefly before he smoothed his expression. "I don't know what you're talking about."

I cocked my head. Either he really didn't remember or he was trying to save face. Interesting. I didn't see the point in lying about it.

"It was nice to know you were thinking about me over the holidays," I noted. "Even if you hate me so much."

"Everyone hates you. You're insufferable."

"Fuck you."

I knocked the ball out of his hand, making him narrow his eyes.

"Insufferable and childish."

Balling my fists, I tried to refrain from doing something worse. Screw it.

I made as if to punch him so that he'd be distracted when I pivoted and kicked the back of his knee. He swore and dropped to the ground. He was quicker than I expected and managed to sweep my feet out from under me. When I was on my back, he locked a hand around my throat, holding me down in the grass.

"God damnit, Densmore."

"Don't call me that!" I shouted. It wasn't my name. It belonged to my dad, not me.

"Then stop getting on my last nerve. Why do you keep trying to challenge me?"

Biting the inside of my cheek, I realized that I didn't have an answer for that. He bothered me; he had since I met him during summer practice. The way he looked at me was like he didn't believe I was good enough to be here. I wanted to prove him wrong.

"Answer me," he demanded.

Grabbing his wrist, I arched upward and lifted my chin in a challenge.

"I just want you to get out of my way," I sneered.

His grip tightened and his breaths came more rapidly. I watched a bead of sweat roll down his chest and without thinking about it, I brushed the fingers of my free hand over his abdomen. He inhaled sharply, his eyes wide as he stared down at me. Abruptly, he released me and got to his feet.

"You're worthless, West."

I stared, unblinking, as he walked off the field. I'd heard it plenty of times before, but from him, it pissed me the hell off.

Looking down at my fingers, I saw the slight dampness from where I'd touched him. I wiped my hands on my pants and looked at his receding figure.

What a dick.