Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Clenching my jaw, I try to keep my curiosity at bay, only the words tumble out before I can stop them. “Yo,” I say to Liam, catching his attention before nodding toward Zoey. “What do you know about her?”
Liam scoffs. “Who? Zoey?” he asks, amusement in his tone. “Don’t waste your fucking time. She’s hot and all, but you can get easier pussy. She’s a frigid bitch. From what I hear, Cameron Landry was trying to pop that cherry all summer long and struck out every fucking time. It’s become a challenge between the boys. Everyone wants to fuck her just to say they did, but it’ll never happen. That bitch will die a virgin.”
Burning rage soars through my chest, infecting me from the inside out as I try with everything I have not to react to his bullshit. My hands ball into fists at my sides, and I try to remember what’s at stake here, try to remember Principal Daniels’ insinuation that I could be a violent person. I’m not, nor do I want to be, so why the fuck do I want to find this Cameron Landry asshole and tear his head clean off his body? I definitely shouldn’t want to throttle Liam just for talking about her like that.
Are they blind? Don’t they see how fucking precious she is?
Shit. I can’t be thinking like this. She’s not mine, not anymore.
I try to shake the vision of Zoey belonging with anyone but me from my mind. “I didn’t ask if the girl was sucking every cock in school,” I spit, unable to take my eyes off her, while secretly pleased that she seems to be one of the only girls in this school with even a shred of respect for herself. “I asked what you know about her.”
His face scrunches. “Does it really matter?” he grunts as we hit the top of the field and circle back around. “She’s a nobody.”
“Just answer the fucking question.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, man. She’s quiet as fuck. She’s not someone I pay attention to,” he murmurs, shrugging his shoulders. “Keeps to herself. Goes to the occasional party, but never looks like she actually wants to be there, and as far as I know, she’s hung out with the same bunch of friends since freshman year. Though I don’t get it, she’s nothing like the girls she hangs out with. They’re all dying to spread their legs, but she’s . . . I don’t know. She doesn’t seem interested. Maybe she’s got the taste for pussy.”
Fuck, I hate this asshole. It’s going to be a pleasure stealing his crown.
Either way, he hasn’t told me anything I didn’t already know.
Coach Martin calls us all in, and we take off toward him before creating a circle around him, listening as he gives the rundown of today’s session. Only I don’t hear a fucking word as I watch Zoey climb into her mom’s old Range Rover and start the engine.
She backs out of her spot, and a strange pang of guilt rests deep in my gut. I was supposed to be the one to teach her how to drive.
A heaviness settles into my chest as she drives away, and I try to focus on Coach Martin’s rundown, catching the tail end of his explanation. He excuses everyone to get started on the drill when he calls for me. “Ryan.”
Shit.
I stop and turn back just as the ball in his hands flies toward my chest. I catch it with ease, waiting to hear what he wants. “I’ve reviewed your more recent games. You’re a great player, Noah. However, those games don’t tell me shit about your limits. I want to see all you’ve got.”
“Yes, Coach,” I say, having expected as much.
“Good. Now get to it,” he tells me. “Grab Lucas Maxwell and run drills. He’s your wide receiver.”
I nod, and he doesn’t spare me another glance before focusing on the rest of the team. With that, I find Maxwell and get stuck into it, more than aware of Liam’s vindictive stare the whole time, probably hoping like fuck I screw this up.
8
Zoey
Trudging up the stairs to my room, I dump all my crap on my bed, then stare down at the array of books. All this shit here is homework. Already. On day one. How the hell am I supposed to keep up with this? Though something tells me it’s only going to get worse from here.
Moving through my room, I step into my closet, reach up to the top shelf, and feel around for my box of treasures. Pulling it down, I place it on my bed, and with shaky hands, I lift the lid off the box, looking down at the framed photograph of myself from another life.
Gripping the photo of me at six years old, I stare at the scared little girl who was in the middle of a torturous chemotherapy treatment. It was the worst time of my life. I’ve never felt so low, not even after Noah broke my heart, but I survived.