Page 2 of The Quarterback Sneak

Tag after tag comes through, overheating my phone, so I drop it onto my bedside table when it burns my hand. I watch the notifications build, and as they slow down, a few messages become visible. My heart beats out of my ears because they don’t make any sense.

Clicking on one message, my stomach drops, and I feel like I’m about to faint.

This can’t be happening, can it?

Chapter One

Zach

“Zach,” Cassie coos, toying with my tie the way I’d expect her to play with a flaccid dick. Overeager and a little desperate. She didn’t take the hint when I leaned against my locker, and she’s not taking the hint now as I check my phone instead of gazing at her overly made-up eyes. “How long are you going to keep me waiting on that date?” She bites her bright-red bottom lip. I admire her balls to phrase her question like I’ve already asked her on a date and she’s just waiting for me to confirm when it will happen. Girl’s hot, but I haven’t asked her out.

Pushing herself forward, she gives me an eyeful of her straining breasts. We go to one of the most expensive schools in Connecticut, yet it looks like she’s worn the same uniform since freshman year. I guess she likes the overly restrictive look.

Giving her a small smile, I think of how to gently let her down like I’ve done all the other girls at South Point Prep who have thrown themselves at me since I joined last year. It’s as though they don’t realize how easily I can see through their flirty façade.

I may not be in the same wealth bracket or have their social status, but I’m not stupid. And rich girls are so predictable.

What better way to piss off your work-obsessed daddy than fooling around with the kid his donations pay for?

So yeah, even though Cassie is as hot as her lingerie model mom and has a daddy as rich as Jeff Bezos, I will not bite.

“I’m sorry, Cassie.” I sigh, trying to sound remorseful. “I’ve got so much on with football and keeping my grades up for my scholarship, I don’t think I can give a girl like you the attention you deserve.” It’s not a lie, just a convenient truth. I’m already late because of football practice, and standing here isn’t helping that. I need to go.

Pouting out her bottom lip, she stretches her shoulders, emphasizing her breasts again, and widens her large doe eyes. I guess that move usually works for her. “But Zachy.”

Zachy? Does she want me to vomit in her cleavage?

“I’m not like the other girls in this school.” Her eyes drag down my uniform, stopping at the cusp of my black leather belt. “I’m not looking to be wined and dined.” Like I can afford to take a girl out, anyway. “I just want a ride on your motorcycle.” She lowers her eyes, giving me a hooded glare.

Sidestepping out of her way, I shove my bag onto my shoulder. “Ah, unfortunately, it’s still in the shop. I’ll let you know when it’s fixed. Catch you later, C.” I don’t bother looking back as I walk down the hallway, ready to catch my bus.

“Hey, Z,” Mike, my teammate and the only person I can tolerate in this school, calls. His feet slap against the concrete as he walks behind me and clasps my shoulder.

With his usual wide smile, he takes me in and asks, “What’s the rush?”

“Just got stuff to deal with at home,” I mumble as he follows me down the hall with his arm slung around my shoulder. He smiles, waving and acknowledging all the preppy assholes like any good politician’s son would.

Growing up around all this pomp and circumstance worked well for Mike; he knows when to please people and what to say to get them on his side, even if he wasn’t born into privilege like most students here. It’s a much better position than I’m in. People respect him because his family earned a place at this school. Me? I was merely pushed into it during my sophomore year because I could throw a ball down a field.

“Right, right.” He nods, the grin never leaving his face even though he knows exactly what I’m dealing with at home. He knows more about it than I’d like, and that was only because he offered me a ride after my bike broke down once.

A couple of our teammates walk past, and as usual, they ignore me but high-five Mike. You’d think they’d show a little gratitude since I’m the only reason our team is sniffing at a chance at state for the third year in a row, but nope, they can’t see past my scholarship or my unbranded shoes.

“Are you going to the bonfire tomorrow? Rachel and Hayley have been asking about you.” I raise my eyebrows at the mere mention of our prep school’s version of Bella and Gigi Hadid. When Mike doesn’t answer my condescending glare, I snort loudly and turn my head in his direction. He looks like the perfect senator’s son today, with his conservative, straight dark haircut and a perfectly pressed uniform. He’s the guy you’d trust your accounts with. Stable, reliable, and always so damn pleasant to everyone.

“Are you trying to pimp me out to Olivia’s friends again?”

A wry smile forms on his lips, and his blue eyes glisten at the mention of his girlfriend. Olivia’s a cool chick and one of the few girls I can remotely stand in this school. Although, that’s probably because she’s one of the few who hasn’t tried to get into my pants. “No. I learned my lesson last time. But you know, I am tired of dodging questions from girls about you when all I want to do is spend time withmygirl.”

I shake my head. “Sorry, but you know bonfires aren’t exactly my scene.” Yeah, hanging out with anyone from this fancy-ass prep school longer than I have to makes the prospect of gouging my eyes out with a rusty spoon sound appealing. Skating past the students, Mike dutifully sticks by my side, still acting like the big man on campus.

“You’re not going to get out of these bonfires all season, you know. Coach wants you to make a speech since they’re basically thrown in your honor.” Like anyone at our school would listen to what I have to say, anyway. I’m the kid who was lucky enough to be born with talent. They don’t realize they got luckier being born into money, because money opens the doors. Talent’s wasted if those doors aren’t opened. Besides, why would any of them be interested in how I got recruited out of my public school because I can throw a clean seventy-yard pass?

“I’m good.”

He stops, looks up at the ceiling, and sighs. “Just one night. That’s all I’m asking. Please. So you can address the girls yourself. They aren’t going to stop until one of them gets in your pants, you know.”

“Get out of my way!” a small form shrills as she pulls Mike and me apart with more force than any of our defensive linemen. Glancing over my shoulder, the blur of a girl sprints out of the building as she shoves a few more people, smacking them with her monogrammed handbag that probably cost more than my house on the way.

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