Cole’s POV
Coach is giving me a fucking headache, probably worse than Blaise did yesterday. The audacity of that motherfucker to even think about laying a damn finger on me. Who the fuck does he think he is
He openly grabbed me, as if he did it every day, and the more I think of it, remembering the way he swallowed my cock with very little fight, he might enjoy it.
Fuck.
I’ve never indicated to him that I wanted his hands anywhere near me. Yeah, a few times I’ve teased him, called him out on his bullshit and demanded he break up with Mia, but I’ve never given him any ideas that I’d want to, and I quote, “choke on a big, fat
cock.”
Fucking asshole.
A shoulder hits into me, and I nearly deck it.
“Pay attention, Carter.”
I grit my teeth and glare at Samson, not giving a fuck that he’s my friend. I’m in no mood for bullshit today. And to make this glorious fucking afternoon better, Blaise stands at the side, impatiently bouncing on his heels while he waits for the second day of tryouts to begin.
For my team.
My stepdad is kind of best friends with the coach, so it’s inevitable he’s going to get onto the team. He probably doesn’t even know how to play with college guys. The privileges of being a good boy, I guess.
“You think he’ll replace Samson?” Jackson asks beside me, tightening the clips of his helmet. “From what I heard of the tryouts yesterday, he’s a good linebacker.”
“Coach won’t replace Samson, he’s too good.”
“Hopefully Keith. He’s been slacking.”
I snort. “Says the one who comes to practice late and still drunk.”
He shrugs and runs off to his position, and I try not to look at Blaise while I finish my game, my throat sore from yelling every two
seconds.
Sweating, I wipe my face with my shirt, my eyes clashing with Blaise, whose gaze lowers to my abs. He averts his stare as soon as he sees he’s been caught, and follows the coach’s assistant to start his tryouts.
I keep looking over at him, though. He moves with fluidity, and seems to know what he’s doing, which irritates me. Twice, he gets tackled, and I fight the urge to get involved when another student gets in his face.
Not my fucking problem.
“Fuck, Carter!”
I stare down at Samson, his eyes wide. Did I tackle him?
1/3
Chapter 23
“I think you broke my ribs.”
“Stop being dramatic,” I retort, helping him up. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Because the walking thumb is giving Blaise shit? I thought you hate him.”
“I do,” I reply, shaking myself off as we fall back into position. “His and thinks he’s a kid still and everything bad that happens to him is my fault.”
“That explains the glare you’re sending the thumb’s way.”
Sure. Let’s say that’s why. I just don’t like the way he’s scowling at Blaise as if he wants to devour him then snap his bones. He’s a big fucker; I’d get five minutes of fight time before I was a goner, but if I need to, I’ll fight him.
Blaise is soaked in sweat half an hour in, and he keeps brushing his and through his unruly dark hair, the white shorts covered in dirt from tackles, and his muscles are bulging in his legs.
He has huge thighs to match the powerful back.
Shit. I think if we had a one–on–one fight, the fucker might be able to scrub the floor with me.
Our eyes clash again, and neither of us looks away, both trying to catch our breaths. Someone grabs my shoulder, a voice in my ear, but it doesn’t matter. The plan is already concocting in my head.
He threatened me.
No one threatens Cole Carter without getting fucked up.
Once I’m done, I head to the showers, checking my phone and seeing a text from Allie, asking me to come over tonight.
I decline. I’m not in the mood for her company. As soon as Blaise vanished from the kitchen the other morning, she tried to fucking mount me, but I shrugged her off and pretended I was late for class.
I wasn’t.
Blaise and the others from the tryouts are sent to the other locker room. Thank fuck. I think him getting naked in front of everyone would have pushed me to my limit. They would all comment on his size, then compare him to me, and then I’d need to kill them
all.
Everyone’s washed and getting dressed.
By the time I finish sorting my bag, I’m alone in the locker room, and when the door opens, I glance up to see…
“Mia?”
She hugs herself, sniffs, her eyes red like she’s been crying. The door closes behind her, and she edges in. “We really need to talk.”
I frown. “Blaise is in the other locker room.”
“I know. I’m supposed to meet him, but I had to see you first.”
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I tilt my head, “What’s wrong?”
“It was a mistake. Please, please don’t try to make him break up with me.”
2/3
Chapter 23
My brows hike up to my hairline. “What are you talking about?”
“I was drunk, but I remember some of what happened the other nigl. Blaise can’t know, but it won’t ever happen again. I love
him,”
“I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re insinuating.” How fucked up was she the other night? I was with Allie.
Mia obviously thinks Blaise was me.
“You need to lay off the booze, Mia.”
She worries her lip and averts her eyes. “I heard you telling Blaise to break up with me the other morning.”
It takes me a long second to figure out what she means, and I let out a snort. “I was fucking with him, but you can do better.”
“I don’t have feelings for you, Cole. I love Blaise.”
Confusion hits me again. “You’re Allie’s best friend. Why would you have feelings for me?”
“Good.” She nods. “If we’re going to pretend it didn’t happen. Okay. But please don’t tell him to break up with me. It was a mistake and it’ll never happen again.”
The door opens, and she flinches as if she was right in front of me and tries to get distance as Blaise walks in, fresh from his shower, his face red. “Did you-” He stops when he sees his girlfriend. “Ah, there you are. Ready?”
He doesn’t even ask her why she’s been crying, which is fucking evident. She nods, glances at me briefly, then walks out. Blaise follows her, pausing in the doorway. “You can barely control your own girlfriend. Stay the fuck away from mine.”
The door slams, and my right eye twitches, both confused as fuck and filling with fury. I drop my bag and fish my phone from my pocket, finding my friend’s contact. He answers on the third ring.
“Do you still have those masks and hoodies?”
“Yeah, man,” Samson replies. “You need them?”
I smirk to myself, already imagining the scene. “Yeah.”
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