Page 10 of Strong Side

7

Choppy Waters

Clayton

It’s been three weeks since our cease-fire that day at the coffee shop, and I’m pleased to admit that it’s been relatively smooth sailing. Okay, maybe notsmoothsailing… more like mildly choppy sailing.

So much so that, despite how bummed I am that I’m not playing with Jax this season, I’m actually pretty excited for today’s scrimmage in Destin. As long as the two of us play like we have been in practice, we should breeze through two sets with no problem.

To get in the spirit, I put on my pre-pregame playlist and turn the volume up as loud as it will go. I’m not even ashamed to admit that??“Pretty Girl Rock” by Keri Hilsonis the first song that comes on. That song slaps, and youcannotconvince me otherwise.

When I pull into the practice gym parking lot, because Rocky refuses to tell me where he lives—something about already having too much “Clay in his life,” whatever that means—I immediately see him leaning against the front of his Toyota Camry. His ever-permanent scowl is already in place and his uniform is on and ready.

Like an itch I have to scratch, I feel the need to fuck with him a little. Rolling down my window, I pull up directly in front of him, point my finger at his broad chest, and belt the song at the top of my lungs.

Shaking his head, he grabs his duffle off the hood of his car and walks around the front of mine to climb into the passenger seat. I don’t stop pointing and singing the entire time. Rocky opens the back door to throw his bag in, and he must think I’m not looking because my heart nearly stops in my chest as I watch a smile spread across his face.

Not the closed-lipped smile he gives everyone else when he’s trying to engage in conversation.

No. Arealsmile.

A beautiful fucking smile.

A smile so pure that I selfishly want to be the only one that ever gets to see it. And from now until the end oftime, I’m going to do everything in my power to see it at least once a day.

Fuck. Me.

But just as fast as it spread across his face, it disappears as he closes the door and climbs in the front. He clicks his seat belt on, reaches for the volume nob, and turns it down so it’s barely audible.

“What, and I cannot stress this enough, in the actual fuck was that?”

There he is.

“Okay, rude. Never turn down a man’s music,” I reply impudently, putting my Mercedes in drive and pulling out of the parking lot.

“You wanted to drive, so that means I’m the DJ. Deal with it.”

He disconnects my phone from the Bluetooth and connects his own. Quickly glancing from the road, I look over to find him scrolling through his music. “Rocky, I swear on all that is good and holy, if you just turned off Keri Hilson to turn on some screamo-rock shit, I will pull this car over and—”1 The opening chord of The All-American Rejects’ “Dirty LittleSecret” sounds through the car, effectively cutting off my protests. “I take it back. Song approved.”

“That’s what I thought,” he grumbles.

An hour and a half later, and after Rocky complained several times about my driving, we pull up to the beach we’re playing at today. It’s one of the few times we get to play on an honest-to-god beach court during the season, and it’s one of my favorite games of the year. I don’t even care that it doesn’t count toward any standings. Coach Taylor isn’t even here today. He decided to stay on campus and run an extra practice with Chad and Prescott after saying they could “use some one-on-one time with him.”

I don’t think douchebag one or two are very happy with the fact that Rocky and I keep whooping their asses in practice.

Oh well.

I shift in my seat to look at Rocky. “You ready?”

“Ready.”

“Today will set the tone for the rest of the season. Everyone’s heard about us. They’re expecting us to fuck up. Let’s go out there and prove them wrong.”

Rocky’s eyes flash with a rare moment of admiration before he holds out his fist. “We got this.”

After a brief moment of shock that he’s willingly initiating contact with me, I bump his fist with mine. “We got this, Campos.”

The two of us climb out of the car and I notice my bag slid across the back seat at some point during the drive; I walk around the back of the car to where Rocky is bent inside the back door, retrieving his bag.

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