Page 4 of Catch
By the end of the day, I have ten messages and four voicemails from Renner, but I don’t even bother to read or listen to them. I ignore them and block his number. There are more tears, and self-recrimination, and I cry until I’m dry and numb. Then I delete every picture I have of him, and remind myself that from here on out, there will be no more falling for douchebag losers.
No falling, period.
I’m going to focus on school and rowing and that’s it.
No sex either. No guys at all; I don’t care how hot they are.
When evening rolls around, it’s still warm and sunny as I make my way across campus and head for the soccer field, all the tension brewing inside me ready to be unleashed. I haven’t texted Jackson or any of my crew to tell them about what happened with Renner. None of my friends liked himanyway, so they’ll probably throw me a party to celebrate our breakup. At first, I thought they weren’t giving Renner a chance, but now I know that I should’ve been paying attention to their reactions. It’s like when we’re out on the water: if we don’t trust in each other, we don’t win.
Rowing, however, is a lot less complicated than relationships. Out there on the water, I know what to do. When it comes to dating? Sex? Apparently I suck at both, and not in a good way.
Shaking off my personal problems, I keep walking until I spot my crew and give them a wave. The Cougars are at the other end of the field warming up, so I make my way over to say hi to the guys I know, including Dane, Silas, Axel, Jace, Maddox, and Kayden. There are a few other hockey teammates I don’t recognize, so I shake everyone’s hand and introduce myself.
Until I reach Ethan.
His dark eyes survey me with amusement, and I hate it. It’s like I’m standing in a spotlight, and fuck knows I don’t like individual attention or being the butt of someone’s joke, least of all his.
“I didn’t recognize you without the fancy cowboy boots,” he announces.
I give him a scowl that says “fuck off,” but it only makes him grin wider.
Fucking jerk.
It’s only then I notice that his team are all wearing custom T-shirts. There’s the Cougar logo on the front, and when one of them turns around, there’s a quote on the back that reads “My Balls, My Rules.”
“You made a mistake,” I reply. “There’s only one ball in this sport.”
Ethan gives me a shit-eating grin over his shoulder.
“Not the way I play.”
Then I remember the bet and let his stupid comeback slide right off me.
“You want to try to distract me with your lame jokes, go for it,” I snap. “I’ve faced a lot tougher competitors than you, hockey boy. And I’ll be the one laughing when it’s my turn to shave your head.”
Ethan turns around and places a protective hand over his sleek black hair. Like most of his teammates, he’s styled it in a mullet—longer on top and in the back, and shorter on the sides. I’d say he looks cool, but I don’t want to admit that. Ever.
“Hey!” he returns. “We said we’d buzz it off, not that the opposing team gets to do the shaving.”
“Afraid you’re not going to win?” I push him. “Let’s dial this up a notch. Winner gets to do the shaving, and eyebrows are fair game too.”
“Oh, you’re on.” He nods, then cups his hands and yells out. “Yo, guys! Losers shave their eyebrows too!”
There are shouts of “fuck no!” in response, and everyone—the Cougars and the Crew—shake their heads at us.
“Okay, forget the eyebrows,” I concede. “But I still get to take the clippers to your head when we win.”
“Not gonna happen, but I’ll take your bet.”
He offers me his hand. It’s as big as mine, callused too, and I regret taking it the moment my skin meets his. The guy’s a barely restrained bundle of mass energy, and his handshake is the same, jolting me with its raw power. Rowers have strong grips, but I guess hockey players do too.
“We’re gonna whoop your ass.”
I drop my hand quickly and wipe it on my T-shirt. I want to be done with this conversation. The sooner we play, the sooner I can get away from Ethan.
“Fuck, you’re vicious today.” Ethan cocks his head and gives me a once-over. “What’s going on? Did Whiner notcome to watch you play? Is that what’s got your jock in a knot, Sugar?”
Sugar?The fuck did that name come from?
