Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
By the time I made it back to the house, it was empty again. The guys had to have made it home and gone out. Practice would have been lighter since we had a game the next morning. Maybe Coach would go easy on me missing.
I locked myself in my room, hoping they would leave me alone when they got back. I ignored the voice mails from my dad because I wasn’t in the mood for that shit. He could bitch at me later for whatever he was upset about this time.
I definitely rubbed one out thinking about Brax.
Once I wiped the cum off, I posted a photo of the ocean from earlier, and my fist. He could take that to mean whatever he wanted.
“Did Coach say anything when you said I was sick?” I asked the guys the next morning.
“Nah,” Collins replied. “He was just worried about his star player possibly missing a game.”
“I mean, makes sense,” I teased, and Ford flicked me in the ear. “Ouch. Damn it.”
“What the fuck is going on with you lately?” Watty asked. “You love lacrosse. This is our third year playing together, and you’ve never skipped practice. You sure as shit haven’t skipped the day before a game.”
No, no I hadn’t. And I wasn’t even sure what to say. I didn’t figure watching the sunset with Braxton was a good answer. “I just have stuff to deal with.”
“I thought you were getting laid?” Collins asked.
“Holy shit, are you hooked on someone?” Ford added.
“Jesus Christ, can we not do this so early? I’m not hooked on someone, and if I was getting laid or not isn’t anyone’s business but mine.” I absolutely one hundred percent wasn’t hooked on someone. Like…at all. Right? “Shit’s not always perfect, ya know? I have my own stuff going on.”
They were all quiet as if they didn’t know how to take that. I could understand because I wasn’t sure how to handle it either, or why I’d said it. Maybe because I could talk to Brax so easily about stuff, it just slipped out? As much as these guys were my boys, it just felt different sharing with them. It was like I had to keep a mask in place, always being the Ty they were used to, not wanting them to see my secrets.
Ford patted me awkwardly on the shoulder. “Bro…you know you can like, talk to us and shit…about whatever’s going on with you. Is it the job? Because it’s seriously cutting into your college experience already.”
“Yeah, man. It’s the job,” I lied. “We should get going.”
We headed to the locker rooms, where we met up with the team. Coach made a beeline for me. “How you feeling, Langley?”
“I’m all right, Coach. I slept it off, and I’m ready to get us the W today.”
He slapped me on my back. “That’s what I want to hear. We need to talk after the game.”
Fuck. I had a feeling something like this was going to happen and that I’d be pissed about it, so it was a good thing we weren’t doing it before the match.
Coach went over a few things with us, and then we climbed in the bus and headed for Los Angeles. I kept my earbuds in the whole drive, and luckily, no one bothered me.
There was a wreck on the I-5, because when wasn’t there a wreck on every Southern California freeway? It slowed us down a bit, but we always left early enough to make sure we had time regardless.
We were in the locker room at USC, just having gotten dressed and listening to Coach give us a speech about winning, playing as a team, winning, having a good time, winning, and how important it was to win.
“Let’s do this. On the count of three—one, two, three, Kings!” We all shouted the last word in unison. Something made me glance at my phone one more time before closing my locker, and when I did, the biggest smile stretched across my face.
Brooding Bad Boy: Good luck. Break a leg or what the fuck ever I’m supposed to say.
I was going to win this game if it was the last thing I did.
LA was killer on defense, and we really struggled to get the ball downfield. I was knocked on my ass too many times to count, but had managed to score and also make some good defensive moves. The game was tied in the fourth, though, and nerves were buzzing down my spine. If we lost, would Coach blame me because of practice? Logically, that didn’t make sense, but he rarely did. It was almost the end of the game when Watty managed to break through the pack and throw the ball my way. It fell perfectly into the scoop, and I took off, dodging defenders before jumping in the air and shooting. Their goalie tried but missed the block, my shot landing right in the net.