Although I think Ivy is, in fact, interested. I’m just not going to admit that to him.
Without answering me, he continues benching until he reaches fifteen reps. Then he sets the bar back in place before sitting up. His eyes arrow straight to mine. “You better not. There are plenty of other chicks out there clamoring for your attention, so do me a favor and leave this one alone.”
We move onto the next station. God, I should just drop the subject. I shouldn’t say one more damn word about Ivy.
But…
I just can’t seem to help myself.
Ever since Sunday, there have been all these thoughts rolling around in the back of my head and they just won’t go away. No matter how hard I try to banish them.
“What if I wasn’t interested in just a quick fuck?”
Dylan picks up forty pound weights and starts bicep curling. “What the hell are you saying? That you suddenly want a relationship?” He snorts as if that’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard come out of my mouth.
And maybe it is. After all, I’ve never been interested in being tied down before and hell, I’m not even sure I want to be tied down now. But I can’t stop thinking about her. I can’t stop thinking about how nice it felt to spend the day with her.
I liked knowing she needed me. That me being there actually made things a little easier to deal with. And I liked wrapping my arms around her and making sure she was okay. The situation had all these protective instincts surging to life within me. I’ve never felt that way before.
“Maybe.”
Dylan just shakes his head, a chuckle escaping his lips. “Dude, stop trying to make me laugh, I’m working out here.”
My brows draw together as I pick up weights. Fifty pound ones. Fuck that guy. Feeling absurdly aggravated, I slowly curl my weights up towards my chest. “Maybe I do want a girlfriend. What’s wrong with that?”
The smile drops clean off his face and he’s back to giving me the stink eye. “Because you’re only interested in nailing as much pussy as you can.” Before I can argue, he continues, “And that’s fine. Hell, I applaud your efforts to plow your way through the female population at Barnett.” He smirks. “If I had your pretty face, I’d be doing the same damn thing.”
Why those words piss me off so much, I don’t know. But they do.
Big time.
“They all want a piece of you before you hit the bigtime.” His voice turns just a tad shitty as he sneers, “They all want to fuck the King of Campus.”
My eyes narrow but I don’t say a word. Dylan and I are bros. We have each other’s back. And we’ve been friends since freshman year orientation. But I know his dream is to play in the NFL just like mine is. Although his future looks a little murkier than mine does. A few scouts have shown interest but he hasn’t generated nearly the amount of attention as I have. Plus, he suffered from a shoulder injury last year that I suspect still bothers him. Every so often, I catch a fleeting glimpse of pain on his face when he thinks no one is looking. I also know he sees the trainer for cortisone shots.
So, even though we’re friends, I think there’s a little bit of frustration that my rise has been seemingly easier than his. I’ve never been hurt. Nor have I ever had to sit out for any length of time to recover. And playing football is like second nature to me. It’s more of a natural instinct. I just get it. I can look at the field and think a few steps ahead. It’s kind of like playing a faster paced chess game. It’s that ability which has thrusted me to the top of my college football career. And people have sat up and taken notice of it. Especially scouts and coaches.
Dylan doesn’t seem to have developed that skill or it’s just not as intrinsic as it is for me.
Instead of tackling the real issue sitting between us, I merely say, “You got your share before meeting Lexie, if I recall.”
He grunts before admitting, “Yep.”
“So, I’m not sure what your point is.”
Glancing over, he skewers me with a cutting glare. “The point is that I don’t want you messing around with Ivy. Steer clear of her. You’re not after anything more than a piece of ass for the night. You’re not the relationship type, King. So find your kicks elsewhere. I don’t need you fucking up my relationship with Lexie so you can nail some chick because she isn’t falling onto her back and spreading her legs wide for you.”
Instead of jumping down his throat like I want to do, I look away while continuing to curl my fifty pound weights. I’m so pissed at what’s spewing from his mouth, that I’ve lost count of my reps. Gritting my teeth, I start all over again.