Page 29 of Pump Fake

“It seems like you’re joining ranks with Kylian. Not that I don’t like Aurora, because I do. But we’re gods here. Do you really want to be stuck with one woman when so many want to get with you?”

I shoved Liam’s shoulder. He talked a big game and acted on it, but deep down, Kylian and I knew there was more behind Liam’s attitude. “I’m good. I want to focus on the things that matter, and that’snotgetting with a random girl every other night. It’s also just another demand on my time and attention.”

“And Brielle doesn’t do that to you?”

“No. As I said, we’re just hooking up.” A part of me wanted more, but we had too much going on in our lives. Not that I knew everything about hers, but teaching sounded challenging. I wouldn’t want to do it.

We entered the training facility, and I headed to the locker room to drop off my bag. Liam went straight to the trainers. I understood why Liam kept asking about my pseudo-relationship with Brielle. He, Kylian, and I were close, and he liked to let off steam after a game. Kylian had rarely gone out on Saturday nights before and had all but stopped since he met Aurora. I’d gone about fifty percent of the time, but that was dwindling too. Instead, we did a few dinners at home with all of us—Aurora cooked them, of course. She would make it big in her career as a personal chef for athletes, wherever she decided to work once she and Kyl moved to the team that drafted him.

I dropped my bag in my locker and turned when I heard moaning to my left. Something about it locked everything down in me, especially when I saw Calvin Matthews and two rookies gathered around his phone, watching what I was almost positivewas my sex tape. Anger tore through me. Campus IT had managed to get it taken down.

“What the fuck?” I made a beeline for them.

The two first-year offensive players whipped their heads up when I shouted. All the color drained from their faces, and they fled. Not Calvin Fucking Matthews, though. His lips curved in a smirk as the video kept playing.

“Got a thing for me, Matthews? Because I know that was taken down.” I closed in and crowded him, my hand fisting his jersey. “That means you downloaded and saved the video.” That sick fuck must’ve been sharing it, stirring up more problems for me than I already had.

“Your underperformance? Yeah, that’s fun to share with the rookies. But the biggest thing is not to get caught on video and screw up your shot at being drafted.”

The asshat dropped the NFL bomb—my biggest concern—and my temper flared. I dropped his jersey, grabbed his phone, and threw it against the wall. It shattered, bits of plastic raining down around us.

Matthews roared, charging me. I slammed my fist into his face. The satisfying crunch did little to dissipate the red haze coating my vision. He shoved me back, his fist narrowly missing my face. I cocked my arm back, about to release it, when someone slammed into me, their arm looping through mine and holding it in place. Marc, the other tight end, locked Matthews down.

“Matthews, Bellingham—get your asses into my office now!” Coach bellowed.

“Calm the fuck down,” Liam said as he released me. “Matthews isn’t worth it. Trust me, I know firsthand.”

I grunted in response. I knew Matthews wasn’t worth it, but I couldn’t help wondering if he was somehow involved in planning the video.Does he know the girl? Did they set me up?Because the video had gone viral at a crucial time.

“Shut the door,” Coach snapped.

Matthews was in first. I closed the door behind us.

“Sit.”

The glare Coach fired our way was enough to douse some of my anger. Matthews dropped into one of the seats, and I reluctantly took the other.

“Weren’t you just in here, Bellingham?”

I sucked in a slow breath, willing myself to calm the fuck down. “Yes, Coach.”

“And you”—Coach pointed at Matthews—“did you want to be dropped to third string? Because that can be arranged.”

“No, sir,” Matthews grumbled.

“You’re teammates. Key word there—team. Act like it. I don’t want to hear or see even the slightest gripe between you. This is your last year, and you’re both screwing it up.”

Neither of us said a word. Matthews looked like he would explode, his face got so red. I had no idea what that was about, and I didn’t care. I knew what I wanted from my last year, and sitting in Coach’s office, getting scolded for a second time, wasn’t it.

“Go get dressed, Matthews. You’ll be running suicides for the next thirty minutes.”

Matthews jolted from the chair and stormed out. The door clicked behind him. I thought for sure he would slam it. Coach said nothing for a few seconds, his gaze locked on the door. Something else must be going on with Matthews that I wasn’t privy to. It didn’t matter to me, though. He’d always been an asshat. I didn’t see that changing anytime soon. And I doubted he would get an invite to the combine—but neither would I if I kept messing up.

“I won’t ask what that was about.” His glare turned steely when I opened my mouth to explain, immediately silencing me. “And I don’t care. Work it out, or figure out how to coexist without disrupting the team. You’re a leader. Act like it.”

I nodded but kept my mouth shut. He wasn’t done laying into me.

“I told you last time you were in this office that I expect better from you, Ares. You have a promising future ahead if you stay on track. What I’m seeing this year, off the field anyway, isn’t living up to that.”

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