Page 9 of Matched By My Rival
“Give me your castoff ideas? Because I’ve gotno ideawhat the fuck I’m gonna do.”
“Relax, Double D. You’ve got this. You’re already a leader. Just think about the team, think about all you do for your teammates.”
“How’s that s’posed to help?”
I shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe there’s something you’re trying to make up for that isn’t being handled by the coaching staff? Maybe there’s something you want from football you’re not getting.”
Darnell didn’t look any more convinced. His brow creased, and his face looked pained enough that I added with a smirk, “Or I’ll just give you one of my castoff ideas.”
He sagged with relief. “Thanks, man. This brainy shit makes my head hurt. I like sports, or else I wouldn’t be in them. How am I supposed to be smarter than the coaches?”
I laughed. “Your problem is you’re too content with life. You need to start carrying a chip on your shoulder like me and these things will come easier.”
He looked skeptical. “If you say so. I’d rather be happy than smart.”
I snorted. “You are smart, man. You’re in college.”
“Whatever you say,” he said, but a bit of his usual spark returned. “Wanna meet up for a poker game tonight? Apparently, there’s a wild game in the dorm where all the art kids stay. You know those girls get freaky.” He waggled his brows. “Could be some fun, sexy stakes if money runs low.”
I laughed and shook my head as we left the classroom, pausing before we each went our own way. “I have to work, but you have fun.”
“I always do.”
With a sigh, I thought of the work shift ahead I’d promised to cover for Rhett. I wasn’t really in the mood for sexy artistic girls anyway—as evidenced by the hours I’d spent scrolling through the Thrust hookup app, checking out pics of guys last night. But I wasn’t looking forward to the late hours on my feet, either, or the pounding headache I’d surely carry back to my room at the frat, where I’d crash into my lumpy narrow bed, exhausted, sexually frustrated, and as always, alone.
3
PARKER
Our strength and conditioning coach, Martinez, waved us in after training the next morning, brandishing a sign-up sheet. We gathered around him, the smell of sweat permeating the air. Nothing we weren’t used to, with four days of strength and conditioning workouts a week. Still, there was restless shuffling, and I imagined most the guys were eager to rinse off the sweat and grab something to eat before we spent the next few hours in class.
“Holmes was nice enough to compile a list of all the on-campus volunteer opportunities available for you guys,” he said. There was a collective groan, and he nodded his head, a smirk curling his lips. “That’s right. Coach Jackson wasn’t blowing hot air. You will all be signing up for a minimum of five hours per week.”
“How am I supposed to keep up with my study hall hoursanddo this?” Harding grumbled. He was a big guy, broad, heavy-set, strong as an ox. Whenever I looked at him, my ribs hurt. Even when he tried to hold back—injuries in practice were the last thing any of us wanted—a tackle from Harding was like getting hit by a runaway train.
“Harding, I know you’re not whining to me right now,” Martinez said, a note of warning in his tone. “You all found time to get drunk and turn up to your first drill of the spring season in sorry-ass shape. You only have yourselves to blame.”
“Not all of us,” someone else mumbled, but Martinez’s quelling look shut them up.
I stepped forward. “Show me where to sign up.”
Martinez clapped my shoulder as he handed me the clipboard with a pen attached. “Good man. Sign your name by the volunteer opportunity of your choice. But be quick about it. Everyone needs to sign up before anyone leaves here today. We will be verifying you follow through, too, Harding. So make sure you find time for your study hall hoursandthis. Last I checked, you had weekends open.”
I skimmed the list. I didn’t really care what I did, but I wanted it to be something suitable. I bypassed the study center volunteer gig. I got enough of that place as it was. I also bypassed the athletic center opportunities—mostly for helping with events. The other guys would jump all over those, but I wanted a break from sports.
My eyes landed on a handful of frat-led charities. I scanned them until I saw a familiar one. The project beside it read:House Pledge. Home repairs and upgrades for Hayworth residents in need. Construction skill appreciated but not required.
As I signed my name, Darnell peered over my shoulder. “Wait, isn’t that Simon’s frat?”
“Is it?” I asked innocently, as if I didn’t know very well that it was.
“Man, do you have a death wish?” Darnell asked, taking the clipboard as I handed it over and signing up for one of the athletic event volunteer slots. “You know he hates you, right?”
I winced. “It’s mostly a misunderstanding.”
Darnell handed off the clipboard to someone else, but he wasn’t done with me. Lowering his voice, he said, “Look, Simon’s my boy, but we both know he blames you for losing his place on the team. If I were you, I wouldn’t be getting on any ladders when he’s nearby. You feel me?”
My gut clenched. Maybe it wasn’t too late to change my choice. I glanced over at the clipboard being passed around. An uncomfortable buzzing under my skin stopped me from trying, though. I didn’t like Simon Prentiss hating me. I didn’t like that he believed I’d wanted any of this. Because I didn’t.
