They’re all glowering at me, throwing barbs my way, when I feel someone else’s stare on me. As though I have a talent for finding Alis, my eyes lock on his dark brown ones. He’s standing on the track, stretching, as his teammates sprint.
Coach bellows at me to sit my ass down on the bench. Ignoring his rage, I stalk over to the bench and stand beside it, my stare never leaving my enemy as I guzzle down some water. Alis scratches his middle finger into his bleached hair, a provoking smirk on his face. Then, his coach points for him to get into position.
The coach blows the whistle, and five guys take off in a sprint. Alis easily outruns them all as though they’re no competition for his conceited ass. Something about his arrogance pisses me off. I toss my red helmet into the grass and strut over to the track. The track coach, Coach Davies, frowns at me.
“Need something, Voss?”
“One hundred meters?” I ask, nodding in the direction the sprinters just ran.
“Yep.”
“What’s the best time?”
“Twelve seconds.”
“Time me.” I crack my neck and grin at him. “I want to see if I can beat it.”
He glances past me in confusion, where Damon is hollering at me to get back on the field. “Your team is looking for you, son.”
“They can wait.”
“Are you going to take off your gear?”
I laugh, earning a few confused stares. “Nope.”
Coach Davies rolls his eyes but motions for me to step into place. “Get in position.”
Mimicking the way the runners started out before, I ready myself.
“Those cleats are going to slow you down,” Davies warns.
“Just blow the whistle, man.”
He sighs, and the sharp, piercing sound signifies my start. Just like in football, I race as hard as I can, as though I’m going to catch the ball and carry it into the end zone. Instead of a ball, though, I lock my eyes on Alis’s stunned face. I whiz past where he’s standing and slow once I’ve crossed the finish line.
Davis trots up to me a moment later, his eyes wide with awe. “Well, I’ll be damned, Voss. Eleven point six seconds. In full gear, no less.”
Alis’s glare could melt glaciers. He’s pissed, and it has me feeling as though I’ve rankled him like I set out to do. I know he’s used to being number one in everything he does, but that was before I decided I wanted that number. I’ll enjoy tearing away every proverbial trophy from his grip and making them my own.
“I beat Sommers?” I ask, panting as a grin spreads across my face. “Is that good?”
“Hell yeah,” Davies crows, playfully shaking Alis by the shoulders. “This guy could run for the Olympics one day, and you just blew his time out of the water.”
“No shit?”
“Language,” Davies chides, but he’s still smiling like an idiot. “You thinking of quitting that useless game over there?”
I know he’s joking, but it stirs something in my gut. Beating Alister in his sport was the highlight of my day. Football sure as fuck wasn’t.
“Actually,” I say with a shrug. “I was thinking about it. I bet I could shave some time off without my cleats on.”
“Go to hell, Voss,” Alis snaps, his body thrumming with rage.
Already there, asshole.
Our dads sent me there that night on the boat.
“Be a good sport,” Davies chastises, misunderstanding Alis’s anger. “He’d be a good addition this year for our team. Sommers, wait—”
Alis storms off, ignoring his coach. I shrug as though I don’t understand his fury.
“He’ll come around,” Davies assures me with a sigh. “He’s not used to having to try too hard. This’ll give him the incentive he needs.” He gestures to the football field. “Need me to talk to your coach?”
“Nah, I’ll tell him myself.” I lift my chin at Davies and then saunter back over to where my team is staring at me. I walk right up to Coach Healy and lean in to whisper words that feel really fucking good to say. “I quit.”
His string of curses echoes behind me all the way to the locker room.
I can’t wait for Dad to find out.
After a quick shower to avoid my pissed-off teammates, I grab my black and red Blood Gators bag and exit the locker room. Naomi and our sisters are waiting for me. Ignoring the younger two, I pull Naomi to me and plant a kiss on her lips.
“Missed you,” I murmur against her lips.
“You can go a few hours without seeing me.”
“Says who?”
She rolls her eyes and pushes me away from her. “Let’s go. I have to get to work.”
I thread my fingers through hers and guide us down the hall toward the exit, our sisters trailing behind us. As soon as we walk outside and get assaulted by the muggy Florida August afternoon, my hackles rise. Sitting on the hood of my car is a familiar bleach-blond asshole.