Page 8 of Waiting for Her

“She always looks hot,” I correct him, not at all bothered that he mentions it. I trust him, and he, more than anyone, knows my true feelings for Bri. He would never pursue anything with her.

“Truth.”

“Her in your jersey, man? I bet you jerk it to that image every night.”

I punch him in the shoulder, laughing at the idiot.

But I don’t deny it.

She has this exotic look to her with her olive skin, dark hair, and bright green eyes. But it’s not only about how she looks on the outside. Her inner beauty is what drew me to her from the beginning. There’s this light that lives in her. She smiles easily, is kind to everyone around her, and is genuinely aniceperson. Hard to come by in high school.

For the next hour, I watch as my friends and teammates laugh and joke, exchanging stories while a few of them even get into a friendly wrestling match.

Never removing an eye completely from Bri. I always know where she is.

Dawson, one of the biggest douchebags this town has ever known, saunters over, a wicked gleam in his eye. History tells me whatever is on his mind tonight, I’m not going to like.

He’s been after Bri for the past two years and is relentless. No matter how often she turns him down, he keeps asking. And he’s getting bolder in his attempts to get her attention. Not that it’s working. He’s a sleezeball, even to the guys. Whether Bri and I were together or not, she wouldn’t want a thing to do with him.

“What’s up, motherfuckers?!” he shouts, his arms spreading out wide, beer sloshing out of the side of his cup before he takes a big swig and belches obnoxiously.

He reminds me of Stiffler from theAmerican Piemovies, except not even remotely a decent friend, or person in general. Everyone groans and shifts around uncomfortably, none of us really seeking out his presence.

A few guys actually walk away.

My first mistake?

Not following them.

“What’s wrong?” He punches me in the gut. “You still fighting off the blue balls since you can’t seem to close the deal with Bri?”

“Fuck off, Dawson.”

He chuckles. “Nice comeback, Grady. You’re such a pussy. And if you don’t step up, you’ll never get into Bri’s. At least, not until I’m done with it. I bet it’s hot and wet. So tight just waiting for a real man.” He reaches down with his hand, gripping his dick over his jeans and jerking a few times.

“Holy shit,” I hear one of our friends cough out.

“Whoa, dude,” I hear someone else say in a warning tone.

“What did you say?” I ask, my voice low and full of the rage I immediately feel. My body coils tight and I step into his space, standing toe to toe with the fuckwit.

I’ve had to watch him peacock around Bri for too long now, desperately trying to get her attention, and I’ve had enough.

I’m not one to fight. Especially not with someone who is less than pond scum, but he makes Bri uncomfortable.

I protect what’s mine.

And she’s mine.

“You heard me,” he challenges back, alcohol heavy on his breath, feeling ten-foot-tall and bulletproof, no doubt.

I’m 6’2” and 230 pounds.

And not that it matters, or I’m bragging, but it’s muscle.

I work my ass off for it, even had my dad help me build, in his words, a torture chamber, in our backyard. It looks like a grownup version of a swing set, but instead of swings and a slide, I have pull up bars, a rock wall, ropes, and boxes.

Dawson, on the other hand, is a joke and crappy excuse for a human being.

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