Page 79 of Scrimmage

This entire situation is so fucking strange. Koda is acting like a total weirdo and it’s unnerving.

“When you’re finally bored and done with whatever weird thing you’re doing here.” I toss my hair.

He advances on me, pressing me against the wall with his chest on mine, and chuckles darkly. “The rule was clear. I told you to answer me when I text you.”

“I’m not your fucking puppy dog,” I growl.

He lowers his face to mine. “There will be consequences to your actions. It’ll be easier the sooner you understand that.”

“You’re a controlling psycho.”

He stands up tall, readjusting my backpack on his shoulder. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

Alexi comes around the corner. “Can I get a ride?”

“No.” Koda shoves through the double doors. I follow behind him, because I really don’t know what else to do.

Outside in the parking lot is a sports car dripping with narcissism. It’s abnormally shiny, as if it was detailed twenty minutes ago. Koda holds the passenger door open for me. The inside is also meticulously clean, nothing like Penny’s car. I stand there and glare at him.

“Get in the car, Ashland."

I squirm. “I’d rather not.”

“It’s not fucking optional.”

“Everything is optional,” I smirk.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s had enough of my shit. Maybe all it will take is me being a bitch and he’ll leave me alone. The sex is great, but this isn’t sex. I honestly don’t know what the fuck this is.

His eyes flash with amusement. “Fine. Here are your options. You get in the car, and you’ll orgasm. You make me do it for you, and I’ll fucking ruin it.”

My mind is scrambled. I’m like a dude, thinking about sex every four seconds. I’m probably an addict at this point. Since I had sex with Koda the very first time, I haven’t been able to give myself anything nearly as satisfying. I’ve just been giving up. He can tell I’m trying to sort out my options, but ultimately, I choose orgasm.

I sit in the stupid car and cross my arms angrily as he slams the door shut, storing our bags in the trunk. For as crazy as he's acting, he's kind of been a gentleman. It’s kinda nice having someone be nice to me, but it’s also terrifying. When someone is nice, what they want in return usually isn’t. It usually comes at a cost.

I’m not really a fan of cars, if I’m being honest. It’s why I ride my board when I can. The Jeep to the Weekender was fine, but a sports car makes me anxious. He gets in behind the wheel.

“I fucking hate this car,” I mumble.

He glances at me out of the corner of his eyes as he starts it. “Then what do you suggest I fucking drive?” he asks haughtily.

“Something that doesn’t scream egotistical asshole,” I bite. He smirks and reverses, flinging me into the dashboard. “What the hell?”

“Put on your seatbelt,” he commands. He doesn’t have to fucking tell me twice. He obviously has a death wish.

I pull out my phone and connect it to the Bluetooth. The speaker beeps, and I snicker before I start tapping away.

“What are you doing?”

“Making you a playlist,” I say innocently.

He takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulders. I just keep clicking away, adding the worst songs I know.

He runs his tongue over his top teeth. “Well, are you going to fucking play it?”

His fingers tap the shifter as if he has to do something to keep from lunging at me. I stare at him and press play. At first, the acoustic guitar starts strumming through the surround sound, and he purses his lips. The first few lyrics make him roll his eyes. I already knew he probably hated pop punk, but he has no clue what’s to come. The second the flute plays, tears are welling in my eyes as I try to keep from bursting out laughing. His are trained on the road, and his jaw is tense.

“Do you like it?” I ask hopefully, choking down a laugh.

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