Hell, treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen. Or be the starting QB for the Tide and do whatever the fuck you like. They still come running back for more. It was a novelty to fuck the great Bullet Prince.
After my shower, I threw on my training shorts and shirt and, grabbing my cleats, headed down the stairs of the frat house. Austin and Reece were already waiting for my lazy ass in the kitchen, so I grabbed my shades off the island and slid them on, flipping a huge fuckin’ bird to Austin, who was laughing at my sorry state as he passed me a protein shake, and we headed out the door.
“Is that chick who left just now yours, Rome?” Reece asked, almost jogging to keep up with Austin and me as we made our way to the gym.
Shrugging, I answered, “She ain’t mine, but all evidence suggests I fucked her.”
“You better’d wrapped that shit up,” Austin scolded.
Damn straight. Last thing I wanted was some wannabe NFL wife trapping me with a kid. “Done deal. Never ride bareback. Evidence was still on my cock this morning. I’m classy like that.”
Austin slapped me on the back, laughing and Reece nudged me in the ribs. “She was hot, man. Remember anything ’bout what she was like? Was she any good?”
Reece. I loved the damn kid, but he needed to get laid more and stop trying for my castoffs. Reece looked about twelve—blond hair, blue eyes—and it felt a whole load of wrong when he talked about screwing chicks. The preppy fucker was one polo shirt short of being on a damn Ralph Lauren ad.
“No fucking idea.” I turned back to Austin, who was smirking at me. “What the hell did we drink last night?”
“More like what didn’t we drink.”
Yeah, that felt more like it. I remember now why I slipped. My folks had called… again, about the bastard engagement, and I’d immediately turned to the Mexican worm. Austin, being my best friend, joined me in getting completely wasted.
“Shit. Coach will have our asses. I fuckin’ stink of tequila,” I groaned.
I knocked back the protein shake in one, ignoring Reece as he grinned and said, “Damn, Bullet. I’m always wishing I was you: never without a girl, the whole damn school following your every move. But when Coach sees you looking like this, he’s gonna make you wish you’d never been born.”
The Abercrombie-and-Fitch little fucker was right; Coach made me pay. Hard. You don’t drink in season without some serious consequences: suicides, hang-cleans, and laps being his chosen form of punishment that day. The Tide was still on two-a-day training, which meant working like a bitch and puking at every task. I ached, I sweated, but I loved every minute of it. It gave me the opportunity to get out my rage, to hit and pummel out my anger… to get through another damn day of this sorry excuse of a life. Ten months left until I could get the heck out from underneath their thumbs, and I was counting down every damn minute.
2
“Momma,” I greeted flatly, seeing her name flash up on my iPhone screen, en route from practice to my classes.
“You need to come to dinner tonight,” she commanded.
I clenched my jaw at her usual icy tone. “Sorry, busy.”
“Then change your plans! The Blairs are coming and you need to be here so we can discuss the engagement, thrash out the details, get the whole arrangement tied up once and for all. Shelly’s hosting her sorority’s initiation of new pledges this evening, but you should be here regardless of her absence.”
“I have practice again tonight. Coach has us on two-a-days. I’ve told you this.”
Silence.
“You will come tonight, Romeo,” she finally replied, her words dripping with authority. I stopped dead, right outside the humanities block. I was already running late for this friggin’ introduction class due to the overrun team meeting, and now Momma was droning on in my ear about this fucking engagement and calling me that bastard name… again. Almost twenty-two and it still made me feel like a kid. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and I could feel my tolerance for her shit about to snap.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I focused on the relaxing feeling of the burning summer sun pounding on my back, attempting to calm myself.
Didn’t work. Nothing ever does.
“Look, I’m going to practice. I’m not coming,” I snapped with finality, slamming my finger on the END button and stuffing the cell in my jeans pocket.