“What do you want?” Jordan demands when I still don’t utter a word. “I don’t care what Coach Kelley says. You’re not trying out.”
“No?” I feign an innocent look. “But I was so looking forward to it.”
“Well, it’s not happening.”
I smile at her. “That’s too bad. I was dying to show you how we do it in the gutter. But I guess I still can.”
Before she can respond, I wind my arm back and send my fist crashing into her face.
Instant pandemonium breaks out. Jordan’s head jerks back from the blow, and her shriek of outrage gets lost in the sea of male hoots all around us. One of the guys shouts, “Catfight!” but I don’t have time to see who it is, because Jordan launches herself at me.
The bitch is strong. We crash to the mats and suddenly she’s on top of me, her fists coming at me. I deflect and roll us, elbowing her in the stomach before yanking on her ponytail and pulling hard. My vision is an angry blur. I land another blow to her cheek, and she retaliates by raking her nails down my left arm.
“Get off me, you stupid bitch!” she screams.
I ignore the pain shooting up my arm and raise my other fist. “Make me.”
I let the fist fly, but before it can connect with her smug face, I’m sailing backward through the air. Muscular arms lock around my chest and yank me away from Jordan.
I pound at my captor’s forearms. “Let me go!”
He growls in my ear. I don’t need to turn around to know it’s Reed. “Calm the fuck down,” he spits out.
Three feet away, Jordan’s friends are helping her to her feet. She touches her red cheek and glares at me. She looks ready to lunge again, but Shea and Rachel hold her back.
The adrenaline sizzling through my veins is making me jumpy. But I know I’m about to crash hard. I’m already starting to feel weak and loopy, my upper body trembling against Reed’s strong chest.
“Let me at her, Reed,” Jordan bursts out. Her hair has come loose from her ponytail and falls into her enraged eyes, and a bruise is already forming on one high cheekbone. “This bitch deserves a—”
“Enough.” His sharp voice cuts her off.
Her menacing expression wavers when Reed releases me. He rips his sweaty T-shirt off, and now half the girls are ogling his ripped abs while the other half continue to stare at me in contempt.
Reed shoves the shirt at me. “Put this on.”
I don’t think twice. I yank the shirt over my head. When my head pops out of the neckhole, I see Jordan glaring bloody murder at me.
“Now get the hell out of here,” Reed snaps at me. “Get dressed and go home.”
A thirty-something man with balding hair marches forward. He’s wearing a coach’s uniform and a whistle around his neck, but I know he’s not the head coach, because I saw Easton in the hall once talking to Coach Lewis. This one must be the team trainer or something, and he looks livid.
“These girls aren’t going anywhere but the headmaster’s office,” he announces.
With a bored look, Reed turns to the man. “No, my sister is going home. Jordan can go wherever you tell her.”
“Reed,” the man warns. “You’re not in charge here.”
Reed sounds impatient. “It’s done. Over. They’re calm now.” He shoots us a pointed look. “Right?”
I nod curtly.
So does Jordan.
“So let’s not waste Beringer’s time.” Reed’s voice is commanding and forceful with a hint of amusement, as if he’s getting off on telling this older man what to do. “Because we both know he won’t take any action. My father will pay him off and Ella will get nothing but a slap on the wrist. Jordan’s father will do the same.”
The trainer’s jaw tightens, but he knows Reed is right, because he doesn’t argue. After a long beat, he spins around and blows his whistle, the piercing sound making all of us jump.
“I don’t see any lifting, ladies!” he booms.
The players who were egging on our catfight hurry back to their exercise stations like their asses are on fire.
Reed stays with me. “Go,” he orders. “We’ve got a game tonight, and now my guys are distracted because you’re dressed like a slut. Just get out of here.”
He stalks off, shirtless, his muscular back gleaming in the sun streaming in from the skylights. Someone tosses him another shirt and he slips into it on his way to his brother. Easton meets my eyes for a moment, his expression impossible to decipher, but then he turns to Reed, and the Royals talk in hushed tones to each other.
“Bitch,” a voice hisses.
I ignore Jordan and stalk away.
16
I don’t go to the football game. Wild horses couldn’t drag me to school tonight, not after everything that happened today. At least I was lively at the bakery. Still steaming from the fight, I tore around the little shop like a whirlwind. As Lucy was leaving, she made some comment about youth and energy and how she missed it.
I almost yelled after her that unless she liked assholes and bitches, she missed nothing, but I figured I shouldn’t be shouting at my boss.
I still can’t believe I physically assaulted Jordan Carrington.