Page 108 of Wrath

I find Ez sitting on his bar stool, looking tan as fuck and bulky in that snug white shirt. He's gotLord of the Ringsin one hand. My stomach gets the heavy feeling again. Clearly, he just doesn't want to talk to me.

"Bookworm," I say as I sit down.

"Ever read this?" he asks.

"No. Should I?"

"Guess it depends."

He doesn't say more, and a second later, Bumble arrives early. He lectures for the duration of class, and I notice Ezra barely takes notes. Disinterest, or is it that he already knows how to do the work?

He's in my head all during band. I even fuck up my cadenceon a song because I hear someone shout, "Masters!" from the football practice field.

I'm in a shit mood as I trudge to soccer. I'm not aware that football practice ended early until I notice lots of people on the sidelines of our field. And one of them is Ezra.

Motherfuck me.

He's wearing a gray sleeveless shirt and black shorts, plus the peach ball cap. He looks like someone oiled him up, his muscles gleaming in the sun. It's hella hot this afternoon.

I'm over-conscious of him watching us play when Brian Beeson passes me the ball and Freddy Haywood tries to kick it out from under me. I keep it away from Freddy, but then Eli Stephens comes in from the other side and tries to steer it back toward Brian. Freddy kicks as Eli kicks, which makes the ball fly up in my face.

Damn thing hits me right in the nose, and I can feel it's gonna bleed before the blood starts pouring.

Fuckingperfect.

I hear Coach’s whistle peal. Freddy is all in my business, saying, "Fuck, dude!"

"It's fine." I ball my shirt up from the bottom, folding it over my face so Marcel, whose squeamish ass is right there on the sidelines, doesn't lose his shit from seeing the blood.

"Miller?" Coach's hand is on my shoulder. He's saying something I can't process because at that second, I hear Ezra shout, "What thefuck, Haywood!"

Freddy says something, and Coach says, "Pull the shirt down."

"It's fine," I tell him. "Just bloody."

"Go wash up," Coach says after a second.

I get a few back slaps as I walk off the field, and I hear Eli say, "I’m sorry, man."

"It's all good.”

I keep my face hidden behind the shirt—even though thatmeans my subpar abs are on display. Whatever. Who cares if Ezra sees they're not as cut as his are? Dude clearly doesn't want me anymore. And that's good. Because he's my stepbrother.

Jeezus.

I'm reaching for the handle of the door that leads toward the locker rooms when a tanned arm swings into my field of vision...followed by Ezra right in front of me. "I got it," he says softly. He opens the door, holding it from behind so I can't see him as I step into the air-conditioned hall.

I don't want to turn around to see if he's following me. Football and soccer—really all the guys' sports—share a locker room. So, he could do it if he wanted to.

"Thanks," I call, hoping that he's turning back, or that he will.

"No problem." His quiet voice is right behind me. I inhale and try to stop my body's hair-trigger reaction. But it's no use. I can feel him in my circle of space, feel the warmth of him in the air passing over my bare lower back.

"Lemme get this other one," he tells me, opening the locker room door.

For a second—anger.

I don't need your fucking help. Fuck off. I want to say those things. But it's petty bullshit.I want you to suck my dick and sleep in my bed. I'm a fucking stage-three clinger now. At this moment, I feel mad at him for that, too.

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