Page 25 of Beautifully Conflicted

“I haven’t.”

His reply is so unexpected I have several false starts before I can respond. “Seriously? You’ve never been to a live game?”

Damien’s flush spreads all the way down to his neck. “I was too busy with my own training.”

“Even as a kid? Seriously?”

“Football was my ticket to college,” he says flatly. Too flatly.

I consider his lack of interest in shoes—or feigneddisinterest—and the apparent need for a scholarship to get to school, and realize there’sa very real chance he’s never been to a live game because he couldn’t afford it.

Money isn’t something I was overly aware of as a kid, and yeah, I know it’s because my family has money that I never gave it a second thought. Not that we’re one percenters or anything, but we’re comfortable. Comfortable enough that I went to private school growing up, and I’ve got enough petty cash to have a good time at school provided I don’t go overboard.

Most of my childhood friends fell into that same category, and most of my friends here aren’t hurting since they either come from money, like my frat brothers, or they got scholarships and NIL deals, like my roommates. Basically, it never occurred to me that someone wouldn’t be able to go to a game because of a lack of funds, which makes me feel like an ass for being shocked Damien’s never been.

Unfortunately, empathizing with Damien isn’t something I know how to do. Or more accurately, it’s not something I’m sure it’s wise to do since it could open the door to being more tolerable of him, and if that happens… It’s just best to keep him at arm’s length.

“There’s such a thing as going too big, you know. Game tickets could really drive a wedge between the winners and losers. Shoes are an incentive without being divisive.”

“Losers should work harder to be winners,” Damien says, although his voice sounds almost robotic instead of his usual snarky or stupid. I’d bet my left nut that’s not his opinion, but whoever made him train hard as a kid.

“You do realize we’re talking about Nike’s, right?” I try to steer him toward the core of our debate.

“So?”

“Nike’s are classic.”

“Whatever. I’m just saying shoes are a stupid incentive.”

I hadn’t thought so until this conversation, and since agreeing with Damien is dangerous, I have to remind him, and myself, this isn’t a friendly chat. “What’s stupid is that you’re talking to me at all. I can only stomach so much of you.”

His dark coffee eyes grow wide, clearly taken aback by my outburst. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“I mean why can’t you stomach me? What’d I do to you?”

His full pink lips, parted slightly as though he wants to say more, nearly make me falter. Fortunately, I’ve recited his list of faults so many times in my head it’s easy to come up with one. The most damning one.

But first,payback. “You don’t know?” I taunt him the way he does me.

“I’m asking, aren’t I? I mean, I know we’re always in competition on the field, but why do you hate me when we’re not?” His tooth sinks into his bottom lip as his words trail off.

“Typical,” I mutter under my breath. “Does the name Ashley ring a bell?”

“The one who went to your high school?” Damien wrinkles his nose, which is either a practiced reaction, or he really is confused. I choose to believe it’s the former.

“You know she did.” I roll my eyes. “Junior year, we’d just crushed you guys in the semifinals, and I came out of the locker room to see you sling your arm over her shoulder and steer her toward your car.”

“So?” Damien swipes his hat off his head, leaving his blondish hair mussed in a way that manages to look effortlessly styled.

“So, she was my girlfriend.”

“Ooh, I see where this is going,” Damien’s shoulders seem to relax, though I can’t imagine why since I just called him out for stealing mygirl, something that isn’t usually taken lightly. “I think you mean she went for me.”

The bark of laughter I release is so unexpected I nearly trip.Is he for real?“Are you trying to claim you didn’t steal her? You took her out.”

“Not because I wanted her.”

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