Page 46 of Blitz'd

I do the things I do for myself. It’s always been that way. I’ve never given a shit what anyone else thought or felt, and it’s served me just fine my entire life.

Fuck Zander.

AbsolutelyfuckZander Braithe and the way he’s making me take even two seconds to consider caring about what someone else thinks.

Apparently that’s not enough to stop me from leaning over the edge of the bed so I can flip my phone over.

Dimples: Fuck ur hot. I miss u

Dimples: And by u I totally mean ur dick

Fuckhim.

* * *

“Up, up, up,” Easton chants over and over in a singsong voice, and I half wonder if he’d still be able to say it if I knock his teeth out. With a grunt, I push the barbell up. I clear four more reps while he pretends to cheer me on in a taunting voice. I don’t know what he’s doing, but it’s obvious he’s trying to get under my skin.

“One more set,” he says when I set the barbell back in the saddle.

“I can fucking count, Easton.” Coach told us five sets of ten on the pull-up bars, bench press, rowing machine and overhead arm presses. I thought weightlifting would at least give me a chance to relax for a bit, but apparentlynot.

Easton blows me a kiss, walking around to finish his set. The asshole doesn’t bother to change out the weights, even though I noticed his arms shaking the last time he was lifting.

I smirk, leaning against the bench as he settles down. He tests the bar and I arch one brow smugly as he sits up and pulls twenty pounds off each side.

“What’s wrong, Easton? Too much for you?”

I can see the anger flare in his eyes, but it doesn’t bring the satisfaction it usually would. Even when his muscles are still shaking slightly as he does his reps and I fantasize about how fun it would be to drop the bar on his chest, I’m still irritated somewhere in the back of my mind.

And I know why.

Of course I know why.

With a mighty heave and his back bowed off the bench, Easton pushes the barbell up to the saddle. I let it hang there for a few seconds, watching his face turn red as he begs me with his eyes to help him. It would be so easy to just let him break himself… but…

That would probably get me into trouble, wouldn’t it?

I set the barbell down with ease. It’s Easton’s fault for wanting to lift with me. Usually, I lift with the bigger defensive linemen, since they’re the only ones who can keep up, but for some reason, Easton has something to prove. He’s learning his fucking lesson now.

And honestly, that should be enough to satisfy me. Instead, I space out, because my mind is still caught up on my fucking cellphone tucked away in the lockers and the fact that IknowZander Braithe texted me something before I threw it in there.

I didn’t look.

Andnotlooking has me feeling… off.

It’s obnoxious.

Fuck, it’s obnoxious, and it’s worse because I know that Easton isseeingit.

“You seem distracted, Slade. Whatever fucking pussy you’re buried in, you should knock it off. I’m not losing my shot at going pro because of you.”

WhateverpussyI’m buried in. Right. I’ve never tried to hide the fact that I fuck whenever and whoever I want… but assholes like Easton are always fixated on it being a girl, on tits and legs and ass.

God,fuckthis.

“Fuck you, Easton. I’m playing just fine. It’s not my fucking fault you can’t do your job for shit. Stop looking to the stands for scouts and start playing like you know what you’re doing.”

Even as he puffs up in anger, there’s a bit of fear in his eyes. I can see it, the way he knows he’s playing with fire. He wouldn’t be saying shit if we were somewhere alone.

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