Page 16 of The Backup

Not one minute of playing time. Notone.

But every game, without fail, Coach reminds me to be ready like I’m the starter.

“I mean it,” Coach says, narrowing his eyes. “You ready?”

“Yes, sir. Always.”

“Better be.”

Here’s the thing: I know my role. I’m fine being the backup. I’m not delusional—I know I’m not Joe. But Coach insists I prepare like I am, so that’s what I do.

The biggest decision I’ll make today is glasses or contacts. Glasses are comfier, but if there’s even the slimmest chance I might need to put on my helmet, contacts it is.

“Where’s Joe, anyway?” Coach asks, looking around. “Have you seen him?”

I shake my head. “Nope…”

Before I can finish, Joe stumbles into the locker room.Stumblesbeing the key word.

He coughs loudly, like he’s trying to cover up the fact that he reeks of booze. Did he keep drinking this morning? Jesus.

“Joseph. Can’t show up on time, eh?”

“Sorry, Coach. Just had the most fucked up night of my life,” Joe mutters, sauntering over to his locker a few down from mine.

I glance up and immediately regret it.

“Fucked up night, Asher,” he says under his breath, pulling on his jersey.

I clear my throat. “You don’t say.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I didn’t ask.”

He spins toward me, his eyes narrowing.

Joe and I? Arch enemies. Always have been.

Not because he’s the starter—I’m fine with being number two. It’s because he’s adouchebag,plain and simple. He’s been a chronic sleep-arounder since freshman year, and I’ve done my best to keep my distance.

I’m not the guy who gets off on out-alpha-ing someone.

But last night? Listening to him on the phone with Sloane? Something in me snapped. I couldn’t resist twisting the knife.

Look, I’m not perfect. But he deserved it.

And I disguised my voice enough that he won’t know it was me who said,“She’s busy.”

A moment of weakness—or maybe pure, raw animalism.

If he doesn’t know how to take care of his smart, insanely hot girlfriend, that’s his problem.

“Yeah, man. Rough night. Anyway, how was yours?” he asks suddenly, catching me off guard. Joe doesn’t usually care about my nights.

“Oh, you know. Average stuff. Studied a bit. Got to bed early.”

“Typical for you.” He laughs, like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

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