Page 7 of Strong Side

He scoffs on the other end of the line as if I’ve just uttered the most outlandish sentence he’s ever heard in his entire life. “Cameron told me all about him.”

I highly doubt that. While my dad and Coach Taylor used to be thick as thieves, their relationship dwindled at the speed at which Dad’s company grew. Rapidly. My father wasn’t the same man he once was and didn’t hesitate to push Coach to the side once he could no longer gain anything from their friendship. Not that Coach seems to mind much. I have a sneaking suspicion he is more than happy with the fact that the two of them are no longer on speaking terms.

“And what exactly is that?” I ask as I pull into the parking lot outside of the gym.

“That he’s some low-life kid from the ghetto of San Diego.” Considering Cameron Taylor was once some “low-life kid from the ghetto,” I find it very unlikely those were the words that came out of his mouth, but I choose not to acknowledge the statement anyway. “And he’s at the school on scholarship. Which, considering the footage I’ve seen of him playing and the fact that he’s received no formal training his entire life, comes as a complete surprise to me.”

I put the car in park and look out the windshield just as Dad is finishing his rant to find Rocky leaning against the hood of his Toyota Camry, arms crossed and staring at me. And just like that day in the gym, my eyes lock with his, and I can’t help the inexplicable pull they have on me.

“I have spent too much time and invested too much money to watch you throw this chance away, Clayton. You’re too close.” With my stare entangled with Rocky’s, this entire conversation feels just…wrong.

“What do you expect me to do, Dad?” I snap. “Rocky was the only other senior player available. I cannot just magically conjure up another one.”

“Watch your tone, Son.” It’s rare I ever talk back to him. One, I usually don’t give enough of a fuck about his opinion to care. And two, I learned a long time ago that arguing with him is a waste of both time and energy. Charles Aldrich doesn’t back down, and he’s never wrong.

So he thinks.

But regardless of what I think of Rocky, I am not going to let anyone talk about my new partner that way.

End of discussion.

“Rocky is my new partner, Dad. There’s nothing you or I can do that’s going to change that. He, Coach Taylor, and I have already weighed all of our options, and this was the only way we could play the rest of the season with any chance at winning. Let alone gain the attention of the Team USA scouts. So leave it alone. I have it handled.” I hang up the phone before he can get another word in.

I’m sure I’ll pay for that later.

With Rocky’s stare still burning a hole into my head, I can’t help but break the tension by pulling my eyes from his and raking them over his body. I’m not blind. Rocky Campos is hot. Even though I’m slightly taller than him, all six foot three of him is packed with muscle. His corded arms, thick thighs, and lean waist are covered in a deep walnut skin. The intricate sleeve he has covering his right leg is something I could spend hours looking at. He still has in the nose ring and dangly earring he usually takes out before practice and games. And I haven’t even gotten to his face yet. His annoyingly gorgeous fucking face. Even with that goddamn mustache. Never once in my entire life have I found a mustache attractive… Iguess there’s a first time for everything. His curly black hair is always perfectly messy. The kind of messy you just want to run your fingers through. And he has one of the sharpest jawlines I have ever seen. I love watching it flex in annoyance every time I piss him off.

Speaking of said jaw, I unashamedly watch it clench when my eyes meet his again, not even hiding the fact that I was fully checking him out. And if the look on his face were anything to go by, he knows that’s exactly what I was doing too. Rolling his eyes, he drops his arms and shoves off the hood of his Camry. Pushing the phone call with Dad out of my mind, I grab my duffle from the passenger seat and climb out of the car.

With my eyes locked on Rocky’s ass and my head in the game, I follow him into the gym for our first real practice as partners.

1. pretty toxic revolver - mgk

5

It’s Gettin’ Hot In Here

Clayton

Well, fuck me.

Rocky and I are ten minutes away from finishing our first successful practice as partners. After an hour of grueling drills, Coach had us scrimmage against Prescott and Chadagain,seeing as they’re the only other senior team.I knew the moment they walked onto the other side of the court they thought it was going to bea repeat of last time.

Well, it turns out when Rocky and I aren’t at one another’s throats, we’re actually… good. No. Not just good. We have the potential to be unstoppable.

I’m not sure what kind of voodoo magic the universe is working on us, but I do know that I have never,and I mean never,had a doubles partner with whom I clicked this effortlessly with on the court.

Of course, it had to be Rockwell Campos, the one person who can’t seem to stand the sight of me off the court.

Chad’s jump serve echoes through the gym as it bolts across the court. In rapid succession, I receive it in the back row while Rocky automatically moves toward the net. My pass finds his hands beautifully, and, like he can read my mind, Rocky quickly sets to the outside just in time for me to hit a perfect line hit.

Prescott barely has time to react as he dives for the ball, but he’s nowhere near quick enough.

Side out.

And neither Rocky nor I had to utter a word.

Voodoo magic, I’m telling you. Like, whatever witch has our dolls… keep it up.

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