Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
With a quick sidestep, I dodge the slower guys and dart to the right. The field is wide open and adrenaline pumps as my feet smack against the green turf. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a shadow behind me, looming fast. Archer. He’s one of the fastest guys on defense, plus he never took his eyes off me. Makes sense he’d be tailing me.
I see the goal line. Must get there.
I’ve gone at least thirty yards, enough for a first down, and I realize I’m not going to make the touchdown, so I aim for the sideline to get out of bounds.
Just as my feet cross the white line and the play is done, my shoulders are shoved and a foot is kicked in my lower back. I can’t stop the momentum as I plummet down on the turf. My head bangs inside my helmet as it hits the ground. Fuck. I’m jarred for a full five seconds. Blinking, I turn over and stare up at the sky.
Archer’s face blots out the sun. “I beat your ass, quarterback.”
I swallow, mentally taking inventory of my body. I’m okay, although my head is rattled. I didn’t lose consciousness, so odds are it’s not a concussion.
I whip my helmet off and toss it over to the side, gasping in air. I hear running and, in my periphery, see Blaze up in Archer’s face.
A couple of the other defensive players jog over, and they join the shouting match. The offensive guys are next, and pretty soon it’s a shoving match. I push myself to standing, swaying a bit. Coach blows his whistle for us to settle down. I shake myself off, blinking as I focus on Archer, who’s danced off toward the other sideline.
Anger ignites as rage sweeps every cell in my body. I march toward him.
Blaze is next to me, gesticulating wildly as he tries to talk me down. Dillon is with him, repeating everything Blaze says. “Dude, don’t freak out. He’s just showing off. You shouldn’t be running anyway…”
I ignore them. My fists curl as my equilibrium returns. I’m so goddamn sick of him. I was fine and dealing with his shit until Blaze said he was flirting with Penelope.
He’s never getting near her again.
Stalking, I reach the sideline and grab Archer’s shoulder, spinning him around. “Take your helmet off,” I bite out.
He smirks. “You gonna cry about the late hit? Maybe if you could win a bet then your game might improve.” He laughs and looks around at the other players. “Oh wait a minute—word is your girl is dating some other guy. She left you at Cadillac’s. Saw it with my own eyes.” He pouts. “Does that make poor little Ryker sad?”
Rage boils. “Take. It. Off.”
He shrugs and looks around the field nervously, his gaze landing where Coach Alvarez is, but I already know Coach is watching. The man knows when someone has taken down his quarterback. My guess is he’s letting us vent for a few. He knows how tense we’ve been.
Archer twitches, his head fidgeting as he looks back at me. “Get over yourself,” he hisses. “It’s just a game. Penelope Graham is just a game.”
“That he can’t win,” one of the defensive players says under his breath.
Enough. I put my hands on Archer’s helmet and tug it off his head.
“Get off me, man!” he shouts as I throw it on the ground. “You ran the play. What did you expect?”
I rear back and hit him square in the face, splitting his lip. Pain shoots through my hand and arm and I flex my fingers to shake it off.
He backs up with his hands out, and I give him a grim smile. He’s not getting away from me this time. Everything rushes at me like a tsunami—the shit from last year, my Heisman snub, the fact that he harassed Penelope. He’s pushed me past the point of caring. “Isn’t this what you want, Archer? You mess with me over and over and want a reaction. You got it.” I hit my chest with my fist and his eyes flare. “Come on, take your shot. Or are you scared?” I grin at him, feeling that rush of power that comes when you know you have the upper hand with someone.
Archer’s face reddens and his lips make a thin line. “Fuck you.”
A sardonic laugh comes out of me. “You’re a pussy. All you want is to ride me about some stupid bet. Look around, asshole. We’re playing football. Not schoolyard pranks. I can’t fucking wait until Maverick is back on the team and you go back to the little nobody you always were,” I say. “And Penelope is mine. She’s always been mine. That bet is won, paid in full.”
The words rush out and part of me wants to tug them back because I know what it means, but I’m running on pure adrenaline. I’ve cracked wide open and everything is spilling out.