6. Jeremiah

Chapter 6

Jeremiah

" M ove your ass, JB!" Coach's voice cuts through the evening air, and I know he's talking to me. I still remember Coach bitching about how the fuck was he going to deal with four Blackwoods on his team. And why the fuck was my name such a damn mouthful?

"Yeah, yeah," I mutter under my breath, pushing through another drill. My muscles burn, but it's nothing compared to everything building up inside me right now. Oakley's name keeps bouncing around in my head like a fucking pinball, and every time it hits, it urges me on.

Sweat drips into my eyes, stinging like hell as I shove past another padded shoulder. The sun's beating down on the St. Charles College football field, like a goddamn torture chamber of turf and grit. I'm out here busting my ass while Oakley's tucked away in some quiet corner of the library. It pisses me off how much she's under my skin. I can't think of anything else. She consumes every fleeting thought even when I'm sleeping.

"Still brooding over Oakley, huh, pretty boy?" Penn's voice cuts through the grunts of our practice session. We both know the nickname is meant to jab at the raw nerve that is my obsession with Oakley Ashford. I shoot him a glare. The kind that's had lesser men back down, but Penn? He thrives on this shit.

"Keep her name out of your filthy mouth, Penn," I snap, shoving my helmet off and wiping sweat from my brow. The smell of fresh cut grass assaults my nose just causing my annoyance at my current situation to rise.

Penn just chuckles, that damn smug ass look on his face as he tosses the ball from hand to hand. "C'mon, little bro. You just need to bang it out and get it over with. Might help you get her out of your system."

"You're an asshole, you know that?" I spit back, feeling the heat rise in my chest. I don't give a fuck how he talks about anyone except for her. He knows she's the one person I won't stand for his shit on. Oakley Ashford is not the type of girl you just bang out.

"What's going on over here?" Graham strides over, his hair disheveled from practice. He looks between us, sensing the tension immediately.

"Your brother thinks I should screw Oakley to forget about her," I say, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"That's your solution for everything, isn't it, Penn?" Graham crosses his arms, staring down Penn with those piercing brown eyes. "That kind of shit won't solve anything, Jere. It'll just make things worse."

"Stay out of this, Graham. Both of you need to worry more about Linc," I warn, but he's right. He always is.

"Jere, listen to yourself. You're obsessed, and Penn's bullshit isn't helping." Graham's tone is firm, his words heavy with something that sounds a lot like disappointment.

"Fuck you," I spit back, the words slicing the tension between us. There's nothing brotherly in our exchange now, just a dark cloud of anger and frustration that seems to bleed from my pores right now.

"No thank you, you aren't my type or G's either, for that matter." Penn retorts, rolling his eyes.

"Both of you, shut the hell up," I growl, throwing my helmet onto the ground.

"Obsessed. Obsessed. Obsessed," Penn sing-songs with a sly grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes. They're always watching, calculating.

"From the tip of my dick, Penn, shut the fuck up. It's not like letting go is exactly my strong suit," I admit through clenched teeth, vision clouded by images of Oakley's eyes and the way they used to light up for me.

"Damn right it isn't, and that's the fucking problem," Graham mutters under his breath, shaking his head. The whistle blows, signaling the end of practice as Coach starts yelling, and we start peeling off our gear, each lost in our own thoughts, the air still thick with tension as we make our way into the locker room. I stop to pick up my lid from the ground on my way into the tunnel.

"It's about why she's here. Why now?" I growl, tossing my helmet into my locker.

"Ask her and if she won't tell you, then either fucking make her or figure it out another way. Instead of fucking fighting with us about it. I didn't piss in your cereal, but can't say the same for Deadpool 2.0 over there." He tosses his head in the direction of Penn's locker where he's joking with some of the other guys on the team.

"Yeah, ‘cause that's gonna be a lovely conversation," I scoff. But deep down, I know he's right. The curiosity, the obsession I try to deny—it's eating me alive. I need answers.

"Seriously, man, you need to get your head straight," my brother Lincoln says, as he rounds the lockers. "This thing with Ashford is gonna fuck with your head, just like it always did. I don't know why you have such a hard-on for the fucking Ashford family, anyway."

"Yeah, thanks for the therapy session. Last I checked you have your own clusterfuck to deal with. How is your new stepsister, by the way?" I mutter. But he's right, damn him. Every thought circles back to her. Every goddamn one.

"I've got my shit handled," Lincoln shrugs, heading toward the showers. "You might want to figure your shit out before it eats you whole."

"Whatever," I say, more to myself than to him.

I smell and my mind wages war on whether I should just leave now and go find my bunny or if I should wash my damn ass first.

Showering wins, but barely as I walk into the showers and fucking clean off quickly. I need to confront her, figure out what game she's playing at. I rush to change into my jeans and t-shirt when I hear my brother behind me.

"Hey, you coming to grab food with us?" Lincoln slaps my shoulder, his dark eyes glinting with a mischief I'm not in the mood for. "Or are you too busy brooding?"

"Fuck off, Lincoln." The words snap out sharper than I intend, but he just smirks, unfazed.

"Chill, man. I have plans tonight unlike you it seems like. You should see someone, get that stick out of your ass," He chuckles, enjoying the rise he gets out of me.

"Good for you," I mutter, tossing my towel in the bin and grabbing my wallet and keys out of my locker. I'm just out here, losing my shit over a girl who can't stand the sight of me.

But damn it, I need answers. I'm not playing this game with her. The only games I play are the ones I can control.

"Good luck, man," Lincoln says, a hint of real support breaking through his usual sarcasm.

"Thanks," I reply, the words dry as dust in my mouth. I don't wait for another word from any of my brothers. I stride out of the room and into the hallway leading to the middle of campus. These damn cobblestones echo as my sneakers beat against them. Old world charm or whatever bullshit SCU spews about why we still look like we belong in an old period movie.

"Jeremiah!" someone calls, but I ignore it. My pace quickens until I reach the looming stairs that will take me up to the library. The last few days of following little Ashford around have shown me that she frequents the library more than any other place on campus except for her dorm room. I know she'll be here.

I push open the library doors, the cool air rushing to meet me. The scent of old books and worn leather greets me. Bookshelves tower around me, hiding secrets and knowledge. There's something oddly comforting about history. Doomed to repeat it, so it's like you already have a vague idea of what happens.

I find her tucked into a corner, the girl who's been running circles in my head, turning every thought to an obsession. Oakley's perched at a table like some kind of fairy, her golden hair spilling over the pages. She doesn't look up, doesn't even twitch; doesn't even realize she's like prey caught by a predator.

I position myself behind a nearby shelf, pretending to browse books while stealing glances at her. Her fingers trace the lines of text, her eyes narrowing in concentration. God, she's beautiful. And infuriating. And everything in between.

I can't take my eyes off her. Her lips part slightly as she reads, a small crease forming between her brows.

My fingers trail over book spines, feigning interest in titles I couldn't give a damn about.

There's something so damn intoxicating about watching her when she's not watching back. Lurking.

The way she tucks a stray lock behind her ear, the concentration, the fucking pleated sundress and cardigan she has on. The goddamn Esperanza wedges that I still remember the fucking name of because she nagged on and on about how they were her favorite type of shoe to wear. It's a fucking scrapbook of innocent gestures that have no right to turn me on. But they do. They really fucking do.

My gaze slides over her form again, taking in the rise and fall of her chest, the curve of her breast where it meets the edge of the table. She shifts in her seat, and the movement sends a surge of heat straight through me. She looks so small, how easy it would be to cocoon her and swallow her whole.

I need to chill the fuck out. A low chuckle escapes me, scratching at my throat. There's humor there, dark and twisted. She's fucking driving me insane, and insanity is reserved for my unhinged brother. Maybe I'm more like Penn than I care to admit.

For now, I'm content to watch, to wait, to let the tension build until it's ripe and ready to burst. Because when it does, when I finally get my hands on her...God, the things I'll do to make her mine.

Fuck. That's not the plan. Find out why she's here and then lock her up in a damn ivory tower. I need to keep my dick in my pants and my hands off her. Tongue also because I just know the first taste of her I get will be my ruin.

As if sensing my thoughts, she shifts in her seat, a subtle change in her demeanor. Her fingers tap the table lightly, a sign of unease. Something's bothering her. Something big. Just let me in bunny and whatever is bothering you, I'll slay. No bigger monster than me when it comes to you.

I lean back against the bookshelf, feeling the hard spines press into my back, grounding me and keeping me from doing something stupid like Penn or Lincoln.

"Excuse me, do you know where I can find the history section?" someone asks, disrupting my thoughts. I snap my head in their direction, trying not to let my irritation show.

"Uh, sure," I reply, forcing a smile. I don't want to be memorable right now. I point off in a random direction. I don't care where they go as long as it's away from me. "It's just down that way." As they walk off, I return my focus to Oakley, but she's gotten up and disappeared from her table. Shit. I need to find her, to see her up close without her knowing I'm there.

It doesn't take long for me to relocate her—she's moved deeper into the library, running her fingers along the rows of books as if they hold the secrets to the universe. I can't help but imagine those fingers on me, tracing patterns across my skin, as we ride.

She sighs, her breath fogging up the glass of the display case in front of her. "The tragedy of love that can never be."

She doesn't hear me just behind her. She's too wrapped up in her own thoughts, lost in the story that unfolds within the pages of the book she looks at so fondly. What fucking book has her so enamored?

And that's how I want her—completely unaware of my presence, allowing me to watch her without interruption. It's a dangerous game, but one I can't seem to resist. I refuse to admit it to my brothers, but they are right. I'm fucking obsessed with her. How could I not be? She's the one good and pure thing I had in my life.

My mother is non-existent. Vanished as soon as she gave me up to dear old dad. When I was old enough, I looked for her, thinking my dad had her killed. I was ready to kill him until I found her in some hole in the wall town, living a normal life with a truck driver husband and two kids. She was alive and well, just didn't give a single fuck about me.

My father is a devil incarnate and my brothers and I are made wholly in his image just as he intended. We'll never escape that. It's been burned into our skin, leeched into our bones, and invaded every molecule of our DNA. We're the monsters he wanted us to be, all of us born and bred just how he designed.

I lean in just a bit further, putting my nose right into her hair and inhaling as quietly as possible. Pure fucking sunshine greets me and soothes the ache welling in my chest at the thought of my fucked-up life.

"Hey Oakley! Did you decide if you could take my shift on Thursday? I have a session I just can't miss." I hear someone ask and I have just enough time to back away and disappear back into the stack of books as my dream girl spins around and heads to the other girl suddenly appearing.

Fuck, that was a close call, and I really don't need to get caught stalking someone in the library and then clean up the fucking mess that creates.