Page 18 of Untouchable Player

I turn around. Jones’ grin is even bigger.

“Sounded like that girl you were banging all night did.”

Disgusting.If a guy ever dared fucking talk about my little sister like that I’d kill him with my bare hands. You can’t say that to your team captain though. I grunt while Jones chuckles to himself and head back to my room to hide.

When I wake up again, it’s the middle of the night. My head is still killing me and my mouth’s dry as fuck, and now I’m starving. I wander downstairs and put my head under the tap in the kitchen until I feel like I’m going to pop. There’s empty pizza boxes everywhere, and I have to open three until I find one crusty piece of pizza left over. I stuff it into my mouth and catchsight of myself in the reflection of the TV. It’s not a pretty sight. Fuck. My dad’s right about me. I am a loser.

I never want to drink again. How many times have I said that? I mean it this time though. Never. Again.

If I didn’t feel like such shit, I’d do something productive, like open a book, but my head’s killing and we don’t have any pain killers in the house. I turn the PlayStation on instead and playNHL 25until I fall asleep again.

I wake up on the couch with something nudging me. No, kicking me.

Jones laughs.

“What the fuck man?”

“Come on, get up.”

“Where are we going?”

“To my mom and dad’s house, Nate said he’s got a spare hour to tutor you today, but we’ve gotta go like now.”

I sniff my pits and as expected, I stink.

“Can’t I just take a really quick shower first?”

“It’s not a date dude, my brother isn’t gonna give a shit if you don’t smell nice.”

This particular brother’s face comes to mind and how I burped in front of him last time, and yeah, I’m showering.

“I’ll be five minutes.”

I jump up before Jones can stop me, and even if he tries, I know from practise skates that I can knock him to the ground if I need to.

Luckily it doesn’t come to that and less than ten minutes later I’m jumping into the passenger seat of Jones’ Volvo and resisting the urge to turn the volume down on his rap playlist.

“Do you have food at your house?”

“Don’t worry, if my mom’s there she’ll feed the shit out of you, if not, fridge is always stocked.”

I feel like I should say something, because, as much as I don’t want to go through with this, he is trying to help me and I should be grateful. It’s the gesture that matters, right?

“I uh… appreciate this man.”

Jones coughs out an awkward laugh and slaps me on the arm. “Don’t mention it, seriously.”

He parks on the driveway and I follow him into the house, feeling like some peasant begging for crumbs from the rich family.

“Mom?” Jones calls through the house. We pass the pool room and head into the kitchen where Nate’s sitting at the table surrounded by books. Jones made me pack my sport’s nutrition books and I set them down on the table and give Nate a shy smile. Fuck, this is going to be awkward.

“Is mom home?” Jones asks.

Nate shakes his head.

“Sorry Engels, I guess no one’s gonna cook you smores.”

I want to tell him you don’t cook smores but Nate beats me to it.

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