Page 15 of Give You Up

Wide eyes all around. Guys talking at once. That same animosity wafting toward Taron. I’m not happy with the situation he put me in, but this protective surge swells over me. How dare they not like him? We all have to start over somewhere, sometime.

What’s that saying? It’s so cliché, it’s just my luck I forgot it. I think hard. The conversation dies down. The guys are staring, wondering why I’m still on the field. I turn my head to the left and distract them with the bling on my face while I give the saying time to formulate in my brain.

Finally it does, and I sigh in relief. The sun is burning hot on the side of my face.When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. That’s what I’ll do. In the corner of my eye, the players stare at the two shiny balls above and below my right brow. They stare at my nose ring too, the sun shining bright on the metal. Smiling, I introduce myself.

“Name’s Syn. Pronounced like the word sin but spelled with a y instead of an I.”

“Hot. What’s your last name, Syn?”

I stare back at the blond who towers over the other players, including Taron.

“Winters.”

“Hot and cold. Nice. I’d tap you.”

Taron steps between me and holy hotness.

“Ain’t happening, bro. She’s off limits.”

I look around Taron’s hulking body. “What’s your name, hotness?” It’s bad of me to test Taron’s temper, but after the crap day I am having because of him, his temper is fair game.

“Jackson.”

“Nice to meet you, Jackson.” I extend my hand. Jackson reaches for it. Taron smacks it away.

“I said she’s off limits, man. Off. The. Fuck. Limits. What aren’t you understanding?”

“Is that what she says?”

“It’s whatI’msaying. I’m the leader of this team, and what I say goes. End of story.”

“Not of mine. We did our time. You can’t walk onto our turf and declare it yours, lamebrain. At best, you should play backup.”

“I don’t play second to anyone.”

“The starting position was mine.”

“Then you should’ve worked for it rather than feel entitled.”

Taron’s family is wealthy, but I never had the impression he felt entitled to anything. His hard work is what earned him his starting position and everyone’s respect. What he could not overcome without help was his temper. His temper hasn’t cooled one bit with age.

The players grumble. Taron and Jackson posture, thrusting their chests and balling their hands against their sides.

“Do what you’re good at, Syn,” Hank says near my ear. He is as tall as Taron and not conspicuous at all when he has to drop his head down to my ear. “Taron’s counting on you.”

I blow out a sigh. I am not Taron’s biggest fan, but I’m not out for his blood either. From the looks on the guys’ faces, half are for Team Taron and the other half are arming to walk off on their starting QB. I put my body between the guys, and grabbing Jackson by the back of the head, I bring him down to my level.

“Taron’s right. You can’t tap me. Sorry, buddy. But I know of a rocking place that has the best beer on tap. Tomorrow night at Shades. First round is on the house.”

God, Midnight will crap his pants, but I’ll spin it as free advertisement. Do this right and the guys will come back for moreandtell their non-football-playing friends.

Lately, business is slow. Midnight’s bar isn’t near campus. It also has a bad rep after what happened over spring break. He blames Riley for the police raid. Riley is a thief, but she isn’t a drug dealer. Geez. Those two and Dare will give me a stomach ulcer with their troubles and antics.

“That so? On the house?”

The disbelief in Jackson’s voice snaps me back to the present.

“Yes.”

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