Page 17 of Wicked Scorn
“Move your ass, JB!” Coach’s voice cuts through the evening air, and I know he’s talking to me. I still remember Coach bitching about how the fuck was he going to deal with four Blackwoods on his team. And why the fuck was my name such a damn mouthful?
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter under my breath, pushing through another drill. My muscles burn, but it’s nothing compared to everything building up inside me right now. Oakley’s name keeps bouncing around in my head like a fucking pinball, and every time it hits, it urges me on.
Sweat drips into my eyes, stinging like hell as I shove past another padded shoulder. The sun’s beating down on the St. Charles College football field, like a goddamn torture chamber of turf and grit. I’m out here busting my ass while Oakley’s tucked away in some quiet corner of the library. It pisses me off how much she’s under my skin. I can’t think of anything else. She consumes every fleeting thought even when I’m sleeping.
“Still brooding over Oakley, huh, pretty boy?” Penn’s voicecuts through the grunts of our practice session. We both know the nickname is meant to jab at the raw nerve that is my obsession with Oakley Ashford. I shoot him a glare. The kind that’s had lesser men back down, but Penn? He thrives on this shit.
“Keep her name out of your filthy mouth, Penn,” I snap, shoving my helmet off and wiping sweat from my brow. The smell of fresh cut grass assaults my nose just causing my annoyance at my current situation to rise.
Penn just chuckles, that damn smug ass look on his face as he tosses the ball from hand to hand. “C’mon, little bro. You just need to bang it out and get it over with. Might help you get her out of your system.”
“You’re an asshole, you know that?” I spit back, feeling the heat rise in my chest. I don’t give a fuck how he talks about anyone except for her. He knows she’s the one person I won’t stand for his shit on. Oakley Ashford is not the type of girl you just bang out.
“What’s going on over here?” Graham strides over, his hair disheveled from practice. He looks between us, sensing the tension immediately.
“Your brother thinks I should screw Oakley to forget about her,” I say, voice dripping with sarcasm.
“That’s your solution for everything, isn’t it, Penn?” Graham crosses his arms, staring down Penn with those piercing brown eyes. “That kind of shit won’t solve anything, Jere. It’ll just make things worse.”
“Stay out of this, Graham. Both of you need to worry more about Linc,” I warn, but he’s right. He always is.
“Jere, listen to yourself. You’re obsessed, and Penn’s bullshit isn’t helping.” Graham’s tone is firm, his words heavy with something that sounds a lot likedisappointment.
“Fuck you,” I spit back, the words slicing the tension between us. There’s nothing brotherly in our exchange now, just a dark cloud of anger and frustration that seems to bleed from my pores right now.
“No thank you, you aren’t my type or G’s either, for that matter.” Penn retorts, rolling his eyes.
“Both of you, shut the hell up,” I growl, throwing my helmet onto the ground.
“Obsessed. Obsessed. Obsessed,” Penn sing-songs with a sly grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. They’re always watching, calculating.
“From the tip of my dick, Penn, shut the fuck up. It’s not like letting go is exactly my strong suit,” I admit through clenched teeth, vision clouded by images of Oakley’s eyes and the way they used to light up for me.
“Damn right it isn’t, and that’s the fucking problem,” Graham mutters under his breath, shaking his head. The whistle blows, signaling the end of practice as Coach starts yelling, and we start peeling off our gear, each lost in our own thoughts, the air still thick with tension as we make our way into the locker room. I stop to pick up my lid from the ground on my way into the tunnel.
“It’s about why she’s here. Why now?” I growl, tossing my helmet into my locker.
“Ask her and if she won’t tell you, then either fucking make her or figure it out another way. Instead of fucking fighting with us about it. I didn’t piss in your cereal, but can’t say the same for Deadpool 2.0 over there.” He tosses his head in the direction of Penn’s locker where he’s joking with some of the other guys on the team.
“Yeah, ‘cause that’s gonna be a lovely conversation,” Iscoff. But deep down, I know he’s right. The curiosity, the obsession I try to deny—it’s eating me alive. I need answers.
“Seriously, man, you need to get your head straight,” my brother Lincoln says, as he rounds the lockers. “This thing with Ashford is gonna fuck with your head, just like it always did. I don’t know why you have such a hard-on for the fucking Ashford family, anyway.”
“Yeah, thanks for the therapy session. Last I checked you have your own clusterfuck to deal with. How is your new stepsister, by the way?” I mutter. But he’s right, damn him. Every thought circles back to her. Every goddamn one.
“I’ve got my shit handled,” Lincoln shrugs, heading toward the showers. “You might want to figure your shit out before it eats you whole.”
“Whatever,” I say, more to myself than to him.
I smell and my mind wages war on whether I should just leave now and go find my bunny or if I should wash my damn ass first.
Showering wins, but barely as I walk into the showers and fucking clean off quickly. I need to confront her, figure out what game she’s playing at. I rush to change into my jeans and t-shirt when I hear my brother behind me.
“Hey, you coming to grab food with us?” Lincoln slaps my shoulder, his dark eyes glinting with a mischief I’m not in the mood for. “Or are you too busy brooding?”
“Fuck off, Lincoln.” The words snap out sharper than I intend, but he just smirks, unfazed.
“Chill, man. I have plans tonight unlike you it seems like. You should see someone, get that stick out of your ass,” He chuckles, enjoying the rise he gets out of me.
