Well, Dax certainly knows I exist now—as the class imbecile.
Mr. Patel clears his throat and everyone quiets down, my stupidity seemingly forgotten. Dax has already turned back towards the front of the classroom, likely thinking I’m a total nutter.
The bell rings sharply, dismissing us for first period. I wait for the room to clear before gathering my things and heading for maths.
“Kate! Wait up!”
My teammate, Tasha, comes dashing up the hall like a maniac, nearly crashing into me. We’ve done girl’s football together for ages so I’ve known her a long time. My mum says I’ve always had too much energy, been impossible to keep still. They signed me up for footy as an outlet for my insatiable need to be on the go.
“Tasha, I’ve told you to stop drinking so much caffeine.” I almost never drink caffeine. I can hardly keep still as it is. If I drank my favorite tea with milk, I’d be off the wall.
She throws her head back and laughs, tossing her long dark hair over her shoulder. I smile wistfully. I’ve always wished I were more exotic looking like Tasha, with her almond-shaped eyes and creamy white skin. But no, I’m not flashy or girly. I’m just boring old me. Boring brown hair, too big for my face murky greenish-brown eyes, average height, average weight, average… everything.
“I haven’t been drinking caffeine, silly. I’m just excited. All last term was footy this and footy that, around nothing but girls all the time. Now, since it’s off-season, we can flirt and find blokes to chat up and have fun.”
We had been walking towards class, but after that comment I stop to face Tasha. “Firstly, we still have football, just not as much. Practice starts next week. Secondly, you can flirt and find a bloke. I’m not interested. I need to get out of this town.” It’s a partial lie. I do want a bloke, a specific one. Only he doesn’t want me. Letting out a huff, I continue down the hall to the maths classrooms.
“Hey.” Tasha grabs my elbow, pulling me over to the side of the hall so we don’t block traffic. She lowers her voice and leans in close. “He’s an idiot to not notice you, Kate. You’re bloody gorgeous, smart, and fucking brilliant on the pitch. Either forget about Dax or make a move. I’ve heard he’s a cold, soulless bastard anyway. This is our last term together and we’re going to have some fun if it kills us.”
While I’m glad to have a friend like her who knows what I’m thinking even when I don’t say it, hearing her insult Dax ruffles my feathers a little. Yeah, he seems unapproachable and icy, but there’s something there. I just know it.
Regardless of how she feels about him, Tasha always lets me prattle on and on about Dax Davies and his magnificence and never once makes me feel stupid or obsessed—even though I’m ashamed to admit I’m both. “We’re going to have fun, huh?”
“Yeah.” She grins.
I pull my hair out of its elastic, run my fingers through it, and immediately whip it right back up in a ponytail. Nervous habit. “Right. You’re right. We are.” I’m not sure if I’m convincing Tasha or myself.
“Good. I’ll see you at lunch. Lucky us, they’re welcoming us back with that dodgy shepherd’s pie you love so much.”
I wrinkle my nose at the thought of eating the horrid school lunches for another term. Oh well, could be worse. I could be eating nothing for lunch—something I’ve had to do many, many times.
“See you then.”
When I reach my class I notice that my streak of misfortune continues—making a fool of myself during attendance, dodgy lunch, and to top it off, Dax is already seated in the back row of my maths class, running one of his huge hands over his short, dark blonde hair. His round, well-defined bicep flexes as his arm moves, making my mouth practically water. Brilliant, I’ll be spending the entire term thinking about Dax and his perfect muscles, sitting behind me. I’ll probably fail maths whilst I daydream.
Make a move or forget about Dax. Yeah right, not a bloody chance.
Dax
“No, no, no! Lad, are you payin’ any attention to what yer doing? He’s gonna leather you if you lower yer right hand!”
Aggravated, I take a step back into the corner of the cage, praying that my temper will lessen. I know my dad’s angry—really angry, because his Scottish brogue is so bad it’s almost unintelligible. That says a lot since I grew up with the sorry prick. I should know what he’s saying after eighteen years.
“Look at me, ya numpty!”
Gritting my teeth, I control my face before I turn towards my old man.
“Freddie, take a break,” he snaps at the bloke I’m sparring with, never once breaking our eye contact. Fred silently exits the cage, disappearing somewhere in the massive old warehouse my dad uses for his underground fight club. You wouldn’t believe how widespread and organized the illegal fight scene is in London. There are tournaments and everything.
My dad steps over until we’re nearly chest-to-chest. I’m a huge bastard, six foot three and over fourteen stone. Dad? He’s tall enough to look me right in the eye. If he were younger, I could possibly be scared of him.
Who am I kidding? I am scared of him, or at the very least greatly intimidated.
My dad only knows one way—very controlling, very painful, and absolutely terrifying. He’s a decent man, mostly. It’s just that he puts fighting
over everything else, including us. Plus, if there’s one thing I absolutely loathe, it’s being told what to do.
Unconsciously, I shift my gaze away from his dark, piercing stare. Faster than you’d think the old man could move, his hand whips out and catches my chin, yanking it until I look at him.