Page 13 of Beautifully Conflicted

Although, winning means that I can’t knock Damien on his egotistical ass…

Do I really need another pair of shoes?

I take off the ones I’m wearing, a pair of Nike AJ1s in silver and navy, and turn one over in my hand as I debate whether to willingly forgo the ones I want in white and baby blue.

“Think of the other guys.” Cam nudges my arm. “They might really love a pair of free shoes.”

Though most of us are here on scholarships, those scholarships come in different sizes, and predictably the guys getting a free ride are conveniently also the ones more likely to get an NIL deal. Needless to say, there are a lot of guys here that aren’t flush with cash, and deliberately taking away a pair of shoes from them because I don’t want to tolerate Damien isn’t cool.

“Yeah, I hear you,” I mutter as I trade my Air Jordans for running shoes.

Half the team heads to the weight room to lift while the other heads outside to jog the five-mile course Coach mapped out. Cruz, Cam, Jagger, and I are all part of the group running first, but as Cruz drifts off to find his assigned buddy Cam and Jagger make no move to separate. I arch a brow in their direction and catch Jagger’s wry smile.

“Being codependent has its privileges,” he says.

I shake my head with a little snort, although I’m not surprised by the fact they’re not being split up for this goofy competition. You almost never see one of those two without the other, and that was before Jagger’s dad showed up last season and started threatening Cam’s safety.

That danger has passed, but the whole thing made them uber protective of each other—not to mention overly handsy in the living room. Long story short, if you separate them, they freak out. Good thing Cam doesn’t plan on going for the NFL like Jagger because they wouldn’t survive being in different cities.

“You got this,” Cam says as I drift off to find my ball and chain.

There are probably thirty guys out here, stretching their legs or bouncing on the balls of their feet as we wait for the signal to get started. And Damien… Well, he’s toward the back of the group. I almost missed him since I would’ve bet money on his showboat personality dictating he be front and center. That, and he’s wearing a beanie that squishes his dark blonde hair over his eyes, which somehow makes him look younger and softer than I know him to be. More approachable than cocky.

His expression is carefully blank as he watches me walk toward him. I can’t tell if it means he’ll actually be cordial for once, or if he’s just biding his time, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Before he can, I hold up my hand. “No talking, and we should get through this just fine.”

His brown eyes narrow beneath the crop of hair that looks almost sandy in the sunlight, but rather than retort he just bobs his head. For a brief moment, I think he’s going to listen and let me run in peace. I’m proven wrong about a hundred yards into our jog.

“Aren’t Cam and Jagger both on offense?”

“No talking.”

“But how can they be paired together if they’re both on offense?”

“You’re still talking.” I slow my pace a hair to match Damien’s so I can have a burst of energy at the end.

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of the whole competition thing Coach is going for?”

“No.”

“If I’m being set up to lose, I’d like to know.” A white cloud hovers in front of his face as he puffs out a frustrated breath in the cool air.

“If anything, having them paired together is a disadvantage for the offense since they could earn more points going against others than they would themselves.”

“How do you figure?”

“Jagger wants to play in the NFL, Cam doesn’t. Cam will do whatever he can to help Jagger instead of focusing on himself, so he’ll lose points by constantly coming in second where he’d probably win if he went against someone else.”

“Why isn’t the offense pissed off that they’re paired up then?” Damien arches a brow.

“I’m not sure those two can piss without holding each other’s dicks, and we all know it, so we don’t pick battles we can’t win.”

Another puff of snorted air clouds in front of his lips, which are slightly less purple now than they were when we started. I only notice because I’ve been waiting for one of his wisecracks to come out of them, not because they’re full or anything.

“Still got a problem with them?” I ask.

“I never said that.”

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