“If you’re pity fucking her out of some twisted obligation. I can find ten girls to bang you right now.”
Pity fuck? What the—
I flex my fingers to avoid clenching them into fists and stare down at my toasting bagel. “Could you stop calling it fucking?”
Christ, now I’m starting to sound like a girl. Scowling at the thought, I pull the toaster cord out of the outlet then dig inside the toaster with my knife to retrieve the only carbs I’ll eat today.
“You don’t like to call it fucking any more? You want something a little more flowery?” He says it with a sardonic laugh. “Don’t tell me—you call it making love.”
“Actually, yeah.” I smear tons of cream cheese on my bagel and stuff a hunk in my mouth. Talk and chew. “That’s exactly what I’d call it, and I don’t need to be discussing it with you. My shit, what I do is none of your business.”
“It used to be my business.”
“Well it’s not any more, and someday, Zeke, I hope you find someone special who makes you change your mind.”
If possible, his expression darkens. “Wow. This bitch has done a number on you—really messed you up, hasn’t she? Don’t you dare fucking let her inside your head man.”
“Is that what this is about?” I ignore the fact that he just called Jameson a bitch because I know it will only lead to a physical altercation. “The team?”
“If you lose a single match, I’ll—”
“You’ll what? You’re in no position to threaten me.”
Zeke stares at me, the cold pallor of his gray eyes disarming. “I’m warning you now, Osborne. Don’t let this girl affect your place on the team.”
This girl? Okay, now he’s just being dramatic, so in true Jameson fashion, I give my eyes a solid roll. “She won’t.”
“She better not, because you barely fucking know her.”
Because he’s wrong.
I do know her.
I know Jameson Clark better than I know him. I know that she only watches reality television and loves The Bachelor so much she’s in a fantasy league. I know she has two sisters and an eleven-year-old Schnauzer named Leopold. I know she wants stability and a good job, but she wants to be a mom even more. When she was twelve, she died her hair a putrid shade of green. When she was fifteen, she kissed some dude name Kevin behind the baseball dugouts and he tried to touch her boobs.
Jameson knows why I want to be in human resources. She knows I don’t want to wrestle professionally, but will do it if the money is good, if any coaches want me before I get a “real job”. She’s texted with my sister, knows that when I was fourteen, I cried watching Marley & Me, and that I love dogs. And traveling. She knows family comes before friends, and how hard my parents work to pay for my education.
She’s one of the few people who know I have a night job.
I trust her.
I—
“Are you even listening to me jackoff?” Zeke’s voice cuts in. “You check that shit at the damn door, hear me?”
This time, I do clench my hand into a fist. “You are seriously overstepping yourself my friend.”
“Because you’re not fucking listening.”
Setting the butter knife in the sink, I spin back on my heels to face him. “That girl, as you keep calling her, is my friend. My girlfriend. And if I ever catch you—or anyone—disrespecting her, I won’t hesitate to choose her over you.” I lean against the counter and speak slowly. “In fact, I’d chose Jameson over the entire team if I had to. So don’t test me.”
“Ozzy, just listen to me—”
“No, you listen to me: this conversation is over and we are never having it again.”
Surprisingly, he lets it go, and because I’m not a pansy, I let him sit and stew in an awkward silence as I unemotionally finish my cold goddamn bagel before walking back to my room and slamming the door shut. I pace from the closet to the bed, hands behind my head, and take short, even breaths.
They’re right; Zeke is a complete douchebag.
I pull out my phone and text the only person who calms me.
Oz: Hey pretty girl. Fancy yourself a study date?
Jameson: On a Sunday?
Oz: I really just need to be somewhere quiet.
Jameson: <3 Yeah, okay. I could probably hit the books if that’s what you want. My lit paper isn’t going to write itself.
Oz: I have practice today at 11:30, but I should be done around two. After that, I am all yours.
Jameson: All mine?! I definitely like that sound of that. But you have to promise to behave yourself. None of that hanky panky stuff…
Oz: Hanky panky? My grandma says shit like that.
Jameson: Then I guess your grandma and I have something in common.
Oz: Right. But now all I can think about is my Gran.
Jameson: Consider that your punishment for years of misbehaving.
Jameson
“Where are you going dressed like that?”
I glance down at my cuffed jeans, my Iowa sweatshirt, my brown half boots, then back up at Hayley, who’s stopped me in the doorway.
Shoot. I almost made it out.
“Why are you carrying books? It’s Sunday.”
“I’m going to the library?”
She wrinkles her nose. “On Sunday? Weren’t you just there?”
Yes, but…
“I mean…Oz has a test tomorrow and I have a paper due, so he thought we could study.” She looks horrified, so I explain. “The library is where we met, so I guess in a way, that makes it our special place.”