Page 31 of Fighting Spirit

“Maybe this week I want to branch out? Try some gouda?”

“We’re not getting fuckin’ gouda.” The guys already give me plenty of shit about the times Trev’s packed me a lunch. I’m not throwing fancy cheese into the mix.

“Let’s divide and conquer. You go do bread, and I’ll stay here.” Trevor shrugs. “That way, you can get your protein shakes and keep the roid rage at bay.”

“I’m not on fuckin’ steroids!” I hiss, my eyes darting around as if someone from the NCAA is going to pop out from between the cans of spray cheese.

He just raises an eyebrow at me, getting exactly the reaction he wanted. I grab the cart and storm away, only narrowly avoiding taking out an elderly woman browsing yogurt as I swing it in a wide circle.

“Hey!” Trevor laughs. “I need that!”

He brushes my hands away from the handle and deftly takes it back to where he had been standing. I almost growl at how easy he makes it look. I’m the scholarship athlete here, but he’s making me look like an ass.

I debate coming back on a separate trip to grab the protein powder just so I can tell Trevor to go fuck himself. But he’s right, I am running low. Instead, I have to balance it precariously on top of the loaves of bread I’ve bundled against my chest. He didn’t need the God damn cart!

I’m still seething as I round the top of the aisle and catch sight of Trevor. He grins, both dimples popping as he holds something up to show me.

“I found the butter you like!”

A reluctant smile creeps out. I really do like that butter, and the grocery store hardly ever has it. “Thanks, man.” I stoop to drop everything I’m holding into the cart, careful not to crush what Trev’s already picked out. He throws a meaningful stare at the protein powder. “Don’t say a thing,” I hiss.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” His grin gets even wider. “Hurry up, you got places to be.”

“You were the one who-” I cut myself off, knowing there’s no point trying to argue.

Together, we manage to check out and get the stuff into the back of my truck pretty painlessly. I swear, half the reason Trevor still puts up with me is so he can make me haul shit around for him.

“Are you gonna tell me about her?” Trevor asks as he slams the passenger door. I’ve told him a hundred times to close it gently. Next time, I’m going to make him walk home.

“No,” I bite out.

“Why not?”

“Because there’s nothing to tell.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing.” He’s baiting me, but knowing that doesn’t mean I’m not going to fall for it. “It looks like you’re jumping at the phone every time it goes off.”

“That’s bullshit.”

I’ve barely gotten the words out when a buzz cuts through the cab. My hand shoots out without a thought, picking up the device. As I do that, the truck jolts a little. Trevor yells in surprise, grabbing the phone out of my hand and holding it above his head.

“Driving!” he yells.

“Fuck! Sorry! Sorry!”

“Dude! What the hell!”

“I know! I know!” I clamp both fists around the wheel, slowing to almost a crawl as I fight to get my breathing under control. What the hell was that? It was like I was possessed.

“Rowan-”

“Don’t,” I cut him off.

“But-”

“Just don’t say a word.”

We sit in silence for the rest of the drive.

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