“I think I can handle myself,” he says, all casual like.
“You should be afraid of my brothers, you know.”
“Why is that?”
“There’s four of them and only one of you.”
“So?”
“So you shouldn’t talk to me this way.”
He gives me a once-over before asking in an amused voice, “Why, does it make you want to beg me for something?”
“It doesn’t –”
“You shouldn’t worry about me too much. As I said, I can handle myself.”
I think so too.
He looks so cavalier, so fearless. Reckless.
My brothers could crush him if they wanted to.
My brothers could crush any guy if they wanted to and everyone in this town knows that. Everyone in Bardstown is afraid of them.
Not him though.
Not Reed Roman Jackson.
He never was and he never will be.
I mean, look at what just happened on the field. What happens every time on the field and also off it. And before I can stop myself, I ask, “Why do you hate Ledger so much?”
“Who says I hate him?”
“You’re always fighting with him, provoking him. Like you did today. On the field.”
“So you were watching, huh?” he murmurs instead.
“Of course. I watch every game. For Ledger. And for Con.”
He stares at me for a beat before chuckling softly. “Of course. Well, your brother makes it easy. To provoke.”
“Why can’t you just get along? You’re on the same team.”
“You tell him to quit the team and we will.”
“He’s the captain,” I tell him like he doesn’t know.
“Not for long.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs, his mountain-like shoulders rising and falling. “It means that he must be getting tired.”
“Of what?”
“Of doing a shitty job of it. Of losing to his forward.”
Right.
Of course.
The stupid contest.
So after Reed provoked Ledger, he lost his head for a while and in that while, Reed scored and won their contest, along with winning the game.
“Your team won,” I say, exasperated. “So he didn’t lose. And neither did you.”
“You’re right, I didn’t.”
“You know it’s a stupid contest, right? It doesn’t mean anything,” I say.
He nods sagely. “Yeah, you should say that to your brother. It might help him sleep tonight. After losing, I mean.”
I study him a beat, all proud and handsome.
Arrogant.
A wrecking ball really.
“Is winning that important to you?”
“Winning is everything,” he replies gravely.
“And what about team spirit?”
“Fuck team spirit.”
“And love of the game?”
He scoffs. “Yeah, the only thing I love is being the best. And my Mustang. I love that too.”
Oh, his Mustang.
How did I forget about that?
The other reason why people call him the Wild Mustang is because he owns one. A Mustang, the car. Obviously in white, and rumor has it that he loves it.
It’s his most precious possession.
Which is why one time, Ledger and guys from the Thorn camp slashed his tires before an important game, just to mess with Reed, and I have to admit that I didn’t like that.
I felt bad for Reed.
But then I found out that Ledger did it in retaliation against Reed sleeping with a girl he liked, again before a big game, to mess with Ledger’s head.
So yeah, that killed my sympathy.
“Your Mustang,” I repeat in a flat voice.
“Yeah. It goes from zero to sixty faster than a girl can strip. What’s not to love?”
I’m… disappointed.
I don’t know why.
I mean, it’s not something that I didn’t expect.
For years, Ledger has been telling me the same thing. He’s been telling me that Reed doesn’t care about the team. That Reed is selfish. He only looks out for himself.
Conrad has been saying it too.
That’s why he picked Ledger as the captain instead of Reed. Even though they’re both excellent. Even though Reed’s even better on some occasions.
So I’ve got no clue why I’m disappointed at hearing this from his own mouth when I already knew what his answer was going to be.
Reed Roman Jackson is exactly what they told me he’d be.
A villain.
Sighing, I duck my head. “I’m leaving.”
I don’t even manage to take a step before he says, “Not so fast.”
My head snaps up. “What?”
As if that wasn’t jarring enough, him stopping me, he decides to make me hyperventilate by starting to approach me.
So far we’ve been standing at a respectable, comfortable distance. Like twelve feet or so. But now he’s closing that distance, one step at a time.
Each swing of his legs is almost a foot long and makes the powerful muscles in his thighs bulge. Makes his boots crush the leaves noisily.
I press myself to the tree as I watch him approach me. As I watch him watch me.
He knows I’m afraid.
I can see it on his features.
His beautifully relaxed mouth, the lines of satisfaction around his eyes.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my fingers digging into the bark of the tree.
He stops probably one arm away, so solid and towering, as he muses, “I’m assuming your brothers don’t know that you’re here.”
His low voice makes me swallow. “Why?”
“Just a hunch.” He dips his chin toward me, bringing us ever so slightly closer, as he smiles, sort of evilly. “And I also think they’re not going to like the fact that you’ve wandered into the enemy camp.”
I’m not sure if it’s his nearness or what but I think that every part of his body is dangerous. That his blade-like cheekbones could cut and his teeth could rip.
His fingers could squeeze and hurt and that he could somehow make me like all of that.
He could make me like the way he’d hurt me.
I raise my chin, trying to look brave. “Are you going to tell them?”
Those sharp teeth of his come out to play when he smiles again. “Now that’s an interesting thought, isn’t it?”
“Please don’t,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. “As I said, I was leaving. You don’t have to say anything. You could just… keep this between us.”
Great. Just great, Callie.
Tell the villain that you want him to keep a secret.
As expected, his eyes glow.
Like he was waiting for me to slip up.
Like he was waiting for me to fall into his trap and only God can save me now.