Page 78 of The Game Plan

Clenching my fists, I slowly breathe in and out. He won’t get to me. I won’t let him get to me. I face down three hundred plus pound guys on the football field every week, guys who say all sorts of nasty shit trying to get under my skin.

He means nothing. He’s meaningless. He’s a mean-spirited bully with nothing good to say.

Punching him out won’t make me feel better. Sure, it might feel good for a minute, but I’m already dealing with the consequences of punching him the first time; it won’t look good to the honor code if I’m busted doing it again.

I can handle guys insulting me. I can handle the mockery. It’s nothing I haven’t heard all my life. I’m a big guy. Some people take that as a personal offense. I’m not sure why. It has nothing to do with them. People think that because I’m big, I have to be dumb. They don’t like when it turns out I actually have some brain cells in the squishy space between my ears.

I’m not trying to be anyone but myself. If I had my way, I’d stick to the shadows, lurking about beneath people’s notice. I can’t help that I’m big and tall and stick out like a sore thumb. The thing that gets me revered on the football field makes me an easy target everywhere else. It’s like people can’t possibly stand to let me be healthy and happy in my own skin.

O’Rourke is one of those guys. I don’t know why he decided to target me or why he’s decided to ramp up the ante in the last few weeks.

What I can’t tolerate is him badmouthing Sam. That’s a hard limit for me.

“You got any brain cells left, Tubby, or have they all been knocked out by football?” he taunts. One of his sidekicks snickers.

O’Rourke plants his hands on the table and looms over me.

“What’s the deal with you and Samantha Burke?”

My heart skitters to a stop. “She’s my girlfriend.”

Every time I say the words, it’s like it’s the first time all over again. My stomach lurches, and I get these fluttery feelings in my chest. She likes me. She wants to be with me. It’s not a trick; she really is my girlfriend.

“Not for long,” he says.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

His eyes narrow. “Stay the fuck away from her.”

“Or what?”

“Or you won’t like what happens next,” he sneers.

“Who are you to tell me who I can or can’t date?” I demand.

“Just stay away from her.”

Scoffing, I roll my eyes. “Yeah, like I’m going to listen to you.”

“You should,” he says.

“Why should I care what you say?”

“If you want to play football again, you’re going to listen to me.” He glowers at me.

A glimmer of fear runs up my spine. I push it back, stomp it down, bury it deep in the back of my mind.

Who the fuck is this guy to threaten me?

I shove my chair back and stand up. We’re the same height, though I outweigh him by a good hundred pounds.

“Go ahead,” I tell him with a bravado I don’t recognize. “Try it. See what happens.”

We stand toe to toe, breathing down each other’s necks.

There are footsteps approaching us. He breaks first, glancing at the person standing there. He takes a step back.

“Samantha,” he says, and I turn.

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