The flirtatious vibes between Wyatt and Ellie disappear as we continue talking, which is a relief. If Ellie likes him, she should tell me. Like now, before I wear his jersey and we send this into more possible serious territory.
I’ll talk to her about Wyatt later.
We all make small talk about classes and tests, and how glad we are that we’re finally upperclassmen.
“Maybe we’ll actually be taken seriously,” Wyatt says.
“Don’t people take you seriously?” I ask, concern gnawing at me. I’ve never felt bad for being an underclassman. It’s just fun to feel like an almost big dog on campus.
“Not on the football team.” He shrugs. “Jake has his senior crew, but I’m more on the fringe.”
“Oh. Right. My brother.” Wyatt isn’t using me to get closer to my brother, is he? No, he doesn’t seem like the type who would do that. I hate that I even have those thoughts, but it’s happened before. To all of us Callahan kids.
“I get it. They’re seniors, I’m a junior. Though they gave me mad respect when I got on the varsity team by playoffs the end of my freshman year,” Wyatt says. “Jake and I have always gotten along when it’s just one-on-one. The same with the other guys. It’s mostly Diego and Caleb who give me constant shit.”
“They’re the worst,” I say, Ellie nodding in agreement. “Don’t even let those two bother you.”
I don’t know how Jake can tolerate them. Caleb isn’t so bad. He’s a manwhore who has zero respect for girls, so that’s a huge negative, but he’s not mean. He’s actually pretty funny and extremely good looking.
Diego is a player despite his having a girlfriend. At least Caleb is single and you know what you’re getting when you deal with him. Diego? He’s more of a snake in the grass.
The bell rings, indicating lunch is over, and we have seven minutes to get to class. I gather up my garbage and grab the rest of my things, rising to my feet and slinging my backpack over my shoulder. I’m ready to head over to the garbage can and toss my stuff from lunch when Wyatt touches me gently on my shoulder.
Turning, I see Wyatt smiling at me, his navy blue jersey clutched in his fingers as he extends his hand toward me. “Thought I’d give this to you now, so you can wear it to school tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” I smile, my cheeks growing hot as I take the jersey from him. With the two of us now alone, I feel a little awkward. A little embarrassed. I’ve never had a boyfriend at school before, though I’ve come close. My freshman year I went out with one guy for all of a week, before he got mad at me for talking about us to my friends and broke it off. He moved the summer between freshman and sophomore year, so bye bye, loser.
There were other guys. Boys I flirted with. Talked to a lot on Snapchat. Yet they’d never acknowledge they even knew me at school, which was weird—and rude. Most of them were older, and I clearly had no idea what I was doing, so I kept my mouth shut too.
Turns out they were talking to multiple girls at school. That’s why they never acknowledged me in person. Jerks.
No wonder this moment between Wyatt and I feels big. Huge. He’s acknowledging me in front of everyone at lunch that he’s interested.
“Thank you for wearing it.” Wyatt’s cheeks are ruddy, as if he’s embarrassed too, and that is so cute. Really, it’s freaking adorable.
He is freaking adorable.
“Hold on.” I run over to the garbage can and toss my trash, then go back to where I left Wyatt standing. Ellie already took off to class the second the bell rang, and I’m glad for it. I love my friend, but we don’t need an audience right now. “I’m excited to wear your jersey.”
“Yeah?” He lifts his brows, his lips curved into the faintest smile.
He’s cute. Really, he is. And he’s always been nice to me. This is a good thing, me and Wyatt. It has infinite possibilities. I don’t care what my brother says.
Because we all know Jake is going to say something. He always does.
“Yeah.” I take a step forward and give Wyatt the quickest of hugs. He barely gets a chance to squeeze me back before I’m pulling away and offering up a silly wave. “See ya tomorrow.”
I take off before I say or do something stupid, though I do glance over my shoulder one last time to check out Wyatt.
He’s standing where I left him with a dazed look on his face.
I smile the rest of the way to class.
Ten
Eli
“Eliiiiii, can I pretty please wear your jersey tomorrow?”
I turn to find Josie Price smiling at me coyly, fluttering her eyelash extensions at me. This girl has no shame. What she wants, she chases after. Or she just flat out asks for it.
Like now. Asking to wear my jersey tomorrow for game day.
It’s a high school tradition that I think is bullshit. Only because, for once in my life, I want a girl to wear it who wants nothing to do with me.
Hell, she doesn’t even go here.
Yes, I’ve seen the movie Mean Girls. So sue me.
I study Josie for a moment, rubbing my jaw as I contemplate her. She’s cute. Nice-ish body. Big tits. Big mouth, which means she is a big gossip. She is definitely a mean girl. Cheerleader. Thinks she runs the school.
I don’t like her. I definitely don’t want her to wear my jersey.
“Sorry. Someone already claimed it,” I tell her.
Her eyes narrow and she rests her hands on her hips. “Who?”
I want to shout none of your damn business as my answer, but I smile at her instead. Put on the extra charm. “You’ll see tomorrow.”
With a huff, she storms off and I’m so relieved I practically sag.
Chicks. Fuck ‘em.
“What happened with Josie?” My friend Brenden magically appears, like he was hiding from Josie. Maybe he was. They tried to start something up last year, and it failed. Spectacularly. He doesn’t have the best luck with women. He claims he has no game and I pretty much agree with him.
“She asked to wear my jersey,” I say, my voice full of disgust.
“And let me guess. You told her no.” Brenden shakes his head, cutting me off when I’m about to say something in my defense. “You’ve been down on girls since the summer. Did someone break your heart and you’re just not telling us?”
I make a dismissive noise, hating how close to the truth he is. “Break my heart? Fuck that. I don’t have a heart, remember?” I slap Brenden on the back, and the both of us start laughing as we head toward the school parking lot.
It’s Thursday night. Football practice is long over, and we had a team dinner. Since Josie is on the cheer team, she was there. And when we were all leaving the dinner, it was almost like she was lying in wait for me, ready to pounce when she saw me exit the building.
Annoying.
Even more annoying? How close Brenden came to guessing my problem. I like to strut around campus like I’m a heartless son of a bitch, but the fuckin’ thing still aches from where Ava Callahan stomped her white Nikes all over it.
You’d think I’d be over it. I know I thought I would be. I’ve had girlfriends, but never for too long. I get bored. Girls are girls, practically interchangeable. And there are so many readily available. I’m almost eighteen. Why should I tie myself down? Mom says that all the time.
You’re young, you’re cute, you’re smart. You’ve got time. Play the field! Settle down when you’re thirty.
Mom did exactly that. And now her and Dad are in the middle of a nasty divorce. It all started a few years ago, right after my older brother Ryan graduated. He left for college early once shit hit the fan, while I was stuck at home, having to take a side. My parents fought on the daily. Mom accused Dad of cheating on her. Dad accused Mom of having a drinking problem.
It got ugly quick. Like they’d been holding onto all this resentment for years, until they finally exploded.
Within weeks of Ryan’s departure and the ensuing accusations and fights, Dad packed up and moved out. He’s now li
ving the bachelor life while I try my best to hang out with him every other weekend, though it’s hard. He’s living over two hours away because he wants to be closer to San Francisco. He designs video games for a living—no joke—and our family has a lot of money because of it. That made it easy for him to leave.
Leaving me alone with Mom, who’s a sad sack of a mess still. She can’t let it go. She can’t believe he left her. And Dad wasn’t wrong—she hits the bottle on the daily. She’s too drunk to care about what I’m doing, so I do whatever the fuck I want.
Works out real nice.
“You still going to make the video tonight or what?” Brenden asks eagerly.
I come to a full stop. “Well shit. I almost forgot. Let’s grab some of the guys if they’re still here. We’ll film it out on the field.”
Since I can’t have Ava Callahan for myself, I have a new mission in life. It’s called fucking with Jake Callahan’s head.
It’s so easy. The dude gets mad at everything. I look at him cross-eyed, and he’s ready to go, ready to fight. It’s pretty ridiculous.
And infinitely amusing. At least to me.
Maybe I’m trying to get Ava’s attention too. She’s pretty much written me off since our encounters at football camp, which sucks balls, but what am I supposed to do? Chase after her?
I don’t think so.
To distract myself, I’ve been putting together trash talking videos and posting them on my Snapchat story at first, though I’m getting more views on Instagram, so that’s where it’s at. Girls go nuts for it. They think I’m hilarious, and they all want a shot at being on my next video.
Seriously, they’re all asking me via DM. Offering up all sorts of goodies for a chance too.
All the guys at my school high five me the next day in the halls, congratulating me on another epic video. It’s so damn satisfying when I hear a rumor coming from the other high school about Jake being torqued over something I said.
What else is new?
I love getting under his skin because it’s so easy. He’s a damn good football player. I will give him that. He’s probably—fuck, this hurts—better than me. Of course, he should be. He comes from a legacy, a football god. It’s in his genes. His uncle played too.
My one advantage over Jake is worming my way into his brain with my taunting words. He literally can’t take it. And maybe, when we finally play against each other at their homecoming game, for the love of God, we will take them down and finally have our moment of victory.
It’s my senior year too. I’d love for that to happen. But if I’m being real right now? We’re going to have to work extra hard.
Once we’re out on the field with a few other guys from the team, Brenden records my shit-talking about Jake. I keep it going for about a minute, spouting a bunch of nonsense that I know will bug him. I’m standing right on the fifty-yard line, with the sun waning and the mountains looming behind me, and I know I look good. We have a better stadium than they do because we’re a newer school. That’s why I prefer recording out here.
We gotta flex on something, am I right?
Carefree and easygoing, that’s me. I embrace the persona I created right now. Easier to pretend than face my reality—a broken family and no one who seems to give a shit where I’m at or what I’m doing.
“He’s going to lose it,” Brenden says as we stand in a circle and watch the video on his phone. “Maybe he’ll play like shit tomorrow.”
“With any luck,” I say, earning laughter for my comment.
It’s easier to hold onto my hate for Jake, focus all of it on him. My personal life has turned to shit. It’s been shit for at least a year, maybe longer. Dad gone, Mom drunk, my big brother, my idol, pretending we all don’t exist. The girl I’m hot for turns me down cold after a sizzling make out session. Nothing else appeals. Nothing else matters.
The only thing that matters is the game.
The drive home from school isn’t too long for me. I don’t live up north by the lake like the rest of the mega rich people do, such as the Callahan family. Tony Sorrento’s house is even bigger. I’ve been to it before, thanks to all the parties he hosts throughout every football season. Most of the time they don’t have a problem with the rival team showing up after a game.
Not so sure if I’m going to be able to make an appearance this season, though. First, Jake might try to kill me. Second, Ava ignoring me for the entirety of the night might kill me.
Either way, I die. And I’m not ready to do that yet.
Once I get home, I spot Mom sitting on the couch with a blanket draped over her and a full wineglass on the side table, her dog Muffin curled up in her lap. I hate that dog. It’s small, extra furry, and he hates me.
He’s yapping away at this very moment, letting Mom know I entered the house. Little fucker has blown my cover before when I’ve snuck out, but, thankfully, Mom’s so doped up on Ambien she doesn’t even hear the dog bark, let alone hear me leave.
“Stop baby, stop,” she croons at the dog before she flashes a weak smile in my direction. “How was practice?”
“Good.” I flick my chin at her, not in the mood for small talk. I’m about to shoot down the hallway toward my room when she says something else.
“How was the dinner? Do you feel like your team is ready for tomorrow night’s game?” she asks.
I’m surprised she’s even aware it’s Thursday night. Most of the time, it’s like she doesn’t know what day it is.
“As ready as we can ever be,” I say with a shrug. I feel like a shit for treating my mom like this, but she hasn’t cared about what I’ve been doing for the last year or so, so why the sudden interest?
“That’s great.” She nods, bopping Muffin lightly on the head when the little shit growls at me. I make a lunging gesture toward the dog, and she starts barking all over again. Mom shoots me a dirty look, trying to calm her precious Muffin down.
That’s my cue to leave.
I make it into my room and slam the door right in the middle of Mom calling my name. I turn the lock and drop my backpack on the chair at my desk, then collapse on the bed. I took a shower in the locker room after practice, but I wouldn’t mind taking another one before I go to sleep.
First, I just want to lay here and think about nothing. Scroll through Insta. Maybe even watch girls make fools of themselves on Tik Tok for a few minutes, though I don’t really like that app. The songs are annoying and it’s the biggest time suck around, though there are always hot girls to check out on it.
I decide to go on Snap first, but nothing’s going on. Girls are sending me photos where they’re trying extra hard to look hot, with the eternal question, “You wanna start a streak?”
No thanks.
There is only one girl I want to have a streak with, and that’s Ava. But she kicked me to the curb. Told me to leave her alone and never talk to her again. Like what the actual fuck? Why would she do that? She was right there with me that night in bed. Sharing that kiss. All those kisses.
It was only one night. Maybe it meant nothing to her. Maybe she’s got all kinds of guys trying to get at her, which wouldn’t surprise me at all. I mean, look at her. She’s gorgeous. Mysterious. Smart and always up for an argument.
She probably doesn’t think about me at all.
I think about her. About that moment we shared. It’s like I can’t get her out of my head. The way she tasted. The sounds she made when I kissed her. The sensation of her tongue sliding against mine. How we seemed to fit together perfectly. It was all right there, presented to her without commentary. We are…
Made for each other.
Yet she pushed me away.
Frustration rippling through me, I open up Instagram and go to her profile. Staring at her photos for a while, my gaze lingers on her pretty face. Her beauty is a bonus. I’m drawn to the things she says, the way she acts. She’s like no other girl I’ve ever met. She could give a shit about me, and I love that.
Why do we always
want what we can’t have?
I can tell by the circle around her profile pic that she posted on her story and I eagerly open it, my heart thumping extra hard, which is dumb. It’s not like I’m seeing her in real life. But this is as close as it gets for us, right now, and I eagerly await to see what she’s posted.
First image is of her standing in front of a mirror in her cheer uniform, and I literally rest my hand against my chest as I stare at her.
You can’t see her face, thanks to how she’s holding her phone in front of it, but fuck me twenty times over, her bod is bangin’.
I wish she cheered for my team. For me. It sucks that she goes to a different school. That she’s now a cheerleader and can never come to my games.
The next image is a Boomerang video, where she does some sort of cute pose with her hand on her hip and her leg kicked up. It goes back and forth as she shifts the phone away from her face at the last second, sticking out her tongue.
She’s so damn cute.
The last image she put some work into it. It says first home game tomorrow at the top, along with a few gifs and cutesy swirly lines in their teams’ colors. Girls like to create those kinds of things for their stories.
It’s what she’s wearing over her cheer uniform that stops me cold.
A jersey.
Someone’s jersey. Number eighty-two.
Whose?
I start doing mad research. I look up all sorts of people on IG, most of them football players for the Badgers. I look up the high school’s football page, but there’s nothing. They have a leadership IG page, and I can see number eighty-two among a bunch of other players, but I can’t make out his face.
Then, I strike gold. I find him. The actual number, eighty-two.
Wyatt Cahill. A junior like Ava. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Cocky smile.
He looks like an asshole.
Unable to help myself, I send her a direct message on Instagram. Hopefully she won’t block my ass like she did on Snap.
What the fuck, Ava? You’re wearing some other guy’s jersey while you’re fingering yourself at night to memories of us kissing at camp?! Who is this asshole?
Addicted To Him Page 8