Page 66 of The Golden Boys

“Just sayin’, if you’re smart, you’ll just piece that death trap back together and take your ass back across town,” he adds, pointing at my car.

The nerve of these dicks is unbelievable. Does he really think I’m just going to let his brother get away with this? Absolutely not.

Sterling freezes when I lean closer, invading his space like his psycho brother loves to do. As much as I hate it, the rush of power I feel in this moment explains why West uses this as a tactic.

“Not sure who your brother thinks he’s dealing with, but he can count on one thing,” I warn. “When someone fucks with me, they can expect me to throw it right back at them. And thatespeciallygoes for your brother.”

My shoulder slams Sterling’s when I push by him. He doesn’t bother trying to stop me this time, and I don’t miss the half-cocked smile set on his lips when I glance back.

I storm toward the fieldhouse and drop my bag in front of the door the second I enter. My sneakers squeak across the white tile and I hype myself up while passing rows of benches and lockers where some of the team still linger, but no West. I don’t acknowledge the sideways glances and questioning stares I pass, because I have one goal in mind.

I’m going to find and hurt West Golden.

Stomping toward the back of the locker room, I try to ignore the fact that I hear running water. It’s a wonder I’ve made itthisfar without their coach spotting me from his office, but he’s nose-deep in what I guess to be the team playbook and doesn’t notice.

For a fraction of a second, I’m tempted to turn back, imagining what I might walk in on when I reach my destination, but fuck that.

I force myself to charge full steam ahead, but I can admit I’m not nearly as confident as before. For some reason, it hadn’t dawned on me that some of the guys might not be decent. I’m too deep in to quit now, though.

Then, I soon realize I should’ve followed my gut and waited in the parking lot. Because when I turn the corner, I walk in on several members of the team still showering. Even with them all fully exposed, I swear I barely even notice once I spot West.

All …of West.

His back is to me, but I see enough. Skin that still holds his summer tan, ink that wraps around his solid biceps and across his shoulder blades. There’s hard muscle everywhere. I sigh a little, releasing the pressure that’s built up inside me. However, it doesn’t help at all because I still haven’t turned away.

He’s soaked and lathered from head to toe, like some sort of wet dream playing out before me, in real-time. Half a second passes before I gather myself and remember why I’m here. Then, the soles of my shoes slosh through water that pools near the drain, and the second I’m within arm’s reach, I gather all my rage and frustration from the past few weeks and slam my fist right between West’s shoulder blades. Having been taught to fight, I know I’m not weak by any means, but the hit barely moves him. However, it does get his attention.

Pissed and confused, he whirls to face me. I know he doesn’t miss the fury in my expression, either.

“Too far!” I shriek, and before I can stop myself, I swing on him again, but this time I aim for his face.

Just as fast as I fire off, his hand catches mine in midair and I’m not sure what pisses me off more. That I swung and missed, or that I’m having to try so hard not to look down at his junk. Even not lowering my gaze, I see way more than I should.

His chest heaves with rage and his eyes reflect it. A sharp tick in his jaw has me equal parts angry and turned on.

“Get the hell out,” he growls, but the command isn’t meant for me. It’s meant for those who were just showering in peace before I strolled in. But now, they’ve taken heed to their king’s orders and I’m left alone with the magnificent beast himself.

The rims of his nostrils flare with anger and mine atleastmatches his.

“You ruined my car!” I shout.

A sick, twisted grin slowly touches his lips, but he doesn’t let my fist go.

“What’s wrong? Didn’t like my little surprise?” he teases. “At least I left the tools you’ll need to get that piece of shit back on the road.”

My chest tightens and I’ve, without a doubt, never hated anyone more. Which makes it super confusing that I’m finding it more difficult not to peek at his package by the second. To fight the urge, I swallow hard, staring instead as water rinses down his face and chest, washing away the soap that once covered him.

Dark strands of hair cover his forehead, drawing my attention to the pair of eyes now blazing a hole through me.

“You must be used to this,” he rasps, “coming outside to find your car on bricks? Has to be a regular thing in your hood, right?”

He’s so damn snide and arrogant. It’s amazing he can even stand it himself.

“You crossed the line,” I hiss.

His grip on me tightens and, before I can react, he has my other wrist and yanks me forward, bringing me beneath the scorching water with him. It rushes down my arms, soaks my hair and clothes, but I don’t even flinch.

“Do I look like I give a shit what you think?” he seethes.

---