Page 1 of You Broke Me First

ONE

MADDOX

I slipped on my letterman's jacket as I walked the back hallways of Riverview High School toward Coach Beckham's office. I got a text to report to his office first thing that morning, and no other details. Judging by my being the only one who received the text, I'd say I was in trouble. Again.

Looking down, I straightened my jacket, slamming into something with my right shoulder. The object flew back and hit the ground.

"Oh," she stuttered, peering up through her thick, wide-framed glasses. I couldn't remember her name, but she was also a student here. I'd seen her around. "I'm sorry." Cheeks pink, she pushed her glasses further up her nose.

"Watch where you're going, dork." I scowled, not bothering to hide the irritation in my voice as I dusted myself off like she'd gotten me dirty. She was the epitome of the word dork. Her dark hair was a wavy mess, her eyes hidden behind thick glasses, and her clothes at least two sizes too big, not to mention three years out of style.

"Parker," Coach yelled, his head sticking through his bright red office door.

Without a second glance, I left the girl on the ground and stormed toward him. I had more pressing matters to deal with than some girl who couldn't see me standing right in front of her.

"What's up, Coach?" I slid into one of his worn office chairs. Even though most of the school was upgraded last year, Coach preferred his old, outdated desk and furniture along with his own filing system. Between the two, his office always looked like an unorganized mess.

"There's no easy way to say this, son." He hesitated, pulling off his red team ball cap, revealing his shaggy silver hair, and dropping it on his cluttered desk. "You're on the bench next Friday."

"What?" I shoved out of the chair to my feet. "You can't do that. You need me."

"We do," he agreed, nodding. "But my hands are tied. Ms. Hanford reported your D, and unless you bring it up by Thursday, you are on the bench."

"How am I supposed to do that?" I ran a hand down my face. "Math isn't my subject, and Ms. Hanford is a terrible teacher." The only emotion I was able to register was anger. Ms. Handford knew how important football was to me. I'd gone to her several times for help, but she was literally the worst teacher at the school and it didn't help that she hated jocks.

"I don't know that you can," he said. "But I found a tutor to help you, so we don't have this issue in the future."

"No," I barked. "I'm playing Friday. It's the first game."

"Then get that grade up," he said, shrugging a shoulder.

"Who's the tutor and when do we start?"

"Her name is Addy," he said. "She is the best, so don't ruin this, and she can start on Monday."

"Monday?" I snapped. "No, we start today."

"Sorry." He sighed, offering an apologetic smile. "She said she was busy until Monday." He paused, placing his hands on his hips. "You could try to convince her to start earlier."

"Yes," I nodded. I could convince girls to do just about anything. I could undoubtedly persuade her to start earlier. "I can do that. Where do I find her?"

"You just knocked her on her ass," he said, pointing out his window to the spot where the girl had slammed into me.

Fuck. That was my tutor?

Well, this would be easier than I thought. Tutor girl had some little schoolgirl crush on me. I'd seen her watching me at practices. Or staring at me in class or during lunch. I'd ignored it and her because I wasn't interested in pursuing her. She wasn't my type, and girls who have schoolgirl crushes end up being stage 5 clingers. I didn't have time for that.

"Gotta go, Coach," I said, bolting out of the office. I wasn't sure why I was in such a hurry. I had no idea where she was or how to find her.

I bolted out the door, storming through the halls like a man on a mission. The problem was I had no idea where to start looking for her. Even though I'd seen her around the school, I didn't know anything about her except she was apparently a good tutor in such high demand that she couldn't start until Monday.

Stopping at my locker, I spun the combination lock.

"What's up, man?" Bentley asked, slamming his locker, right next to mine, shut. I inwardly groaned as I pulled out my backpack, tossed it over my shoulder, and slammed my locker closed.

"Rough morning?" Bentley laughed, pulling his black team cap over his short, dark hair.

Royce and Asher strolled up behind Bentley. Asher, Royce, and Bentley were all part of the offensive line, and since this was our senior year, getting as much play time as possible was necessary if we wanted to be recruited. The four of us grew up together and had been playing together since I moved to this town.

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