Page 97 of Lost Boy
“What is it?”
Fallon snorts before lifting his chin for a kiss. “Enough with the questions, Ryder. Not telling you.”
“Fine. I’ll just make sure I win so I can open it.”
I lean down and press my mouth to his for a quick kiss. We really need to get going.
“I’m returning it if you lose. So no pressure.”
The snark!
I tip my head back and belt out a loud laugh because he’s hilarious when he’s completely himself around me.
“Not a chance. I’m not worried. We got this.” Although I’m not entirely sure if I’m telling him or myself that.
* * *
I sidestep Seth, my sneakers squeaking against the shiny hardwood floor as I dribble down the open court. There’s no one to stop me, so I dunk it. Just because I fucking can. I’m in my element, and the crowd goes wild, their cheers echoing off the high ceilings.
We’re playing at the college just outside town, and the place is packed. Tickets were sold out, and I’m here to show all of California who the Knights are. We’re mopping the floor with these Jefferson High idiots.
I’m not going to taunt them, though. I’m no poor sport, no matter how terrible they’ve been to people I care about. Dad always taught me to be the bigger person, so it’s ingrained in me.
But Cole. Well, he’s a different story.
“Yeah, buddy! Let’s goooo!” he hollers, jumping up and down. His shaggy brown hair is pulled into a small top knot that bounces with him. He looks obnoxious as fuck, but Jamison reprimands him quickly before he gets our team a foul. Not that it would matter. A few free throws won’t affect anything. We are one hundred and ten percent winning this championship.
They can’t come back, and they know it with only five minutes left.
Seth throws the ball to Rich, who tries to dribble down the court, but I can tell he’s stressed and flustered at how they’re blowing this whole thing.
I’m not sure what their deal is. They usually play better than this. I throw my hands up as he attempts a three-pointer over my head. I block it, knocking the ball to my teammate Clarence who takes off toward the opposite basket.
At half-court, he’s stopped by Dustin, who attempts to swat the ball away. When that doesn’t work, he straight-up trips my boy. Clarence sprawls to the floor in a pile of long, gangly limbs.
The ref blows his whistle, and I rush over to make sure he’s okay. He sits on his ass, hissing as he examines the floor burns on his knees. His top layers of skin are gone, and the flesh is raw and red.
Ouch.
Those fuckers.
Poor Clarence. He hasn’t even been mixed up in the pranks or drama. He’s only a junior, which is probably why Dustin targeted him. They know I hate when people pick on the underdog.
I lean down and grab him by the bicep, Jamison on his other side. We help him stand, and he grits his teeth as the skin pulls. He can’t play like this. He’s gotta sit the end of the game out.
That’s so fucked.
Two trainers rush out and grab him, ushering him to the locker rooms for medical care.
But Dustin just doesn’t want to stop.
“Your little cheerleader is in the crowd, I see. He doesn’t have much school spirit except for the hoodie and a little face paint. Or does that spirit come later? Maybe in the bedroom?”
What the fuck is his fascination with Fallon and me?
It’s not normal.He’sdefinitely not normal, and I’m starting to wonder if he’s possibly hardcore repressed. Because he shouldn't be so hyper-focused on the two of us. I can only think that he’s gay and maybe hates himself. I might feel bad for the guy if he wasn’t a grade-A predator and spiteful asshole.
“Those sparkles? Bet they’d look nice on my dick.”
