Page 8 of Brutal Days

“The blog article.”

A slow, wicked smile curved her full lips. “I write the truth.”

I wanted to do so many things to her, but it wasn’t the place or time. Still, I flattened one hand on the locker beside her head, sliding my other hand up her arm until my palm rested around the base of her throat. I applied subtle pressure, enjoying the way her pulse beat erratically.

“That wasn’t the truth, and we both know it.” I eyed her lips like a starving man. I wanted a taste. “I know my talent on the field, and now”—I eased my hand back, so my thumb brushed over her pounding pulse at the base of her neck—“I have my answer of what, or who, rather, you want.” I released her and backed away, not once taking my eyes off her.

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared. “You’re just as delusional off the field as on it.”

I laughed. I had no illusions about football. I was damn good at what I did. “I meant what I said that day. You’ll have hell to pay for what you did, and I will collect one way or another.”

Sky could act like she wasn’t into me, and I had no doubt she didn’t like me, but her body’s reaction said otherwise. I planned to enjoy my revenge.

That mouth would be mine.

* * *

Skylar

“What the fuck is this?” Stephanie slapped a printed screenshot on the desk before me that I’d written for the day’s blog post. She leaned over me, her palms flat on the table, fury darkening her face until she turned an unflattering shade of red. The small scar above her eyebrow stood out like a beacon.

She’d called an emergency editorial meeting. The rest of the team who had gathered in the classroom was oddly quiet.

“It’s the article you assigned me.” I held back a grin. My sarcasm only made her angrier.

“Explain yourself.” Her clipped words punctuated her frustration as she pushed away and paced before me.

I remained seated as if I’d been called to task in the principal’s office. I guess, in a way, I had.Is her hair getting curlier?Sometimes, I swore her corkscrew curls took on a life of their own.

Fine.I gave in. “If it was such an issue, why didn’t you flag it before it went to print?”

“I trusted you to do your job.”

“And I did. Damon had a shit game. I reported it.”For fuck’s sake.“It’s not my fault you didn’t do your job and read it before you let the page go live.”

Stephanie’s eyes closed, and I imagined she was counting to ten before she spoke. I counted along with her.

“I got a call from the athletics director.”

Yep, she’d counted to ten. I shrugged. “And?”

“He was furious, and he demanded a retraction.”

I snorted. “That’s crazy. I reported facts. And Damon played terribly.”

Her narrowed eyes bore into me. “I took the article down.”

My hands flattened on the desk, and I pushed myself up, leaning forward, inches from her face. “One teacher complains, and you bend over and take it? I thought you wanted an honest report of events.”

Her arms crossed over her chest. The rest of the people in the room observed us like it was a tennis match. Ball was in her court, and they looked to her for a rebuttal. I wanted to hear it too.

“Players have an off day, Sky. Your article showcased him as a joke. A star player, mind you.”

I clenched my jaw to stop myself from saying more. That was ridiculous.

“Whether you like him or not”—she looked to the ceiling for a moment—“he brings in scouts. Do you honestly want to blow that for the other players who could get noticed because of the hype around Damon, Phoenix, or Shane?”

I hated that she made sense. I still disagreed with her, but I did understand her point. None of that changed that I was boiling mad she had taken my article down.

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