Feuds and Reckless Fury

“Wow.”

I wipe the smile off my face and look down at her, eyebrows knitted together as I study the sassy girl who’s stuck by my side through some of my shittiest moments. “What?”

“Just weird seeing it confirmed.” She shrugs as though her words don’t stab me right in the gut.

“We were arguing,” I say lamely.

“No, Canyon, that’s not at all what you two were doing. You were eye-fucking and sharing a Coke like a couple.”

I balk at her words and shake my head. “That’s…Nae…”

“Come on,” she says, rolling her eyes at me. “Let’s get to class.”

Eye-fucking.

Sharing a Coke like a couple.

Here I thought I was taunting Alis because that’s what we do, but it turns out he’s mind fucking me just as much as I thought I was doing to him.

I’m so screwed.

“Yo,” Gage calls out from the bench on the football field.

I walk away from the group that’s stretching on the track and toward the guy I’ve had to begrudgingly put up with over the years since he’s in my circle of friends. “What’s up?”

He’s bigger than me with all his Blood Gators football gear on, a fact his smug self seems to appreciate. I walk right up to him, not daunted by the stupid show of intimidation. Gage and I have always tolerated each other because we were teammates who shared the same friends. I’ve never liked him the way I do Cain and Damon, though. Something about him irritates me. Always has.

“Coach will let you back on the team,” he says, eyeing me as though he can’t seem to understand why. “He thinks you’re going through a phase.”

His words rankle me. “I’m happy where I’m at.”

“Running with that faggot?”

It takes a second for the slur to catch up to my brain. “The fuck you say?”

“Come on, Voss,” he scoffs, his lip curling up, “you can’t actually enjoy doing this track shit. Is it because you want to show up Sommers, or because you’re hoping he’ll let you suck on his dick?”

I shove him hard, sending him flying backward over the bench. He lands on his back with a grunt. With a growl, he leaps back to his feet, his hands fisted as rage thrums through him, making him shake.

“Maybe you prefer it up the ass. No wonder you couldn’t satisfy Naomi—”

My fist swings out, but it’s stopped when two arms grab me from behind. Damon steps in front of Gage to keep him from coming after me. It takes me a second to recognize the salty lime scent that belongs to Alis. I try to shake him off me, but he’s tugging me away from Gage.

“That’s what I thought,” Gage barks at me. He makes a crude gesture of sucking a dick, which sets me off. Before I can charge at him again, Alis twists me around and shoves me back toward the track.

“What the hell?” I snap, glowering at him over my shoulder.

“You fight with him, and you’ll be suspended from the track meet on Saturday.”

“So?”

“So, how am I supposed to gloat for beating your ass when your ass isn’t there to beat?” His dark brow lifts in question. “I kind of need you there to stroke my ego.”

The devious glint in his mahogany orbs alludes to much more than his ego being stroked. Fucking Sommers. He’s a little shit-stirrer in my life. It’s annoying.

“Come on,” he says, motioning with a chin nod to the track, “let’s have a little preview of this weekend.”

Smug bastard.

When I beat him by a sixteenth of a second, I feel on top of the world. I’m doubled over, panting for air, when I catch his amused expression. Fucker let me win. Asshole.

I flip him off and growl, “Again.”

The next time, he beats me all-too-easily, and damn if I still don’t feel on top of the world.

Alister

I don’t know where Canyon is by the time I reach his house after practice with Carrie in tow, but I’m eager for another chance to snoop around in his space without him breathing down my neck. While Carrie makes some pizza rolls for us, I head upstairs to sneak another peek into Canyon’s room. I twist the knob and push inside, immediately annoyed to find the bed in disarray and more clothes littering the floor.

I’m thankful to see he’s washed my clothes. They’re folded neatly and sitting at the end of his unmade bed. I shove them into my bag before dropping it to the floor so I can do something about his mess. Cleaning up his space goes quicker since it’s not as bad as the last time I was in here.

I carry a pair of shoes into his closet and find more discarded clothes in there that need picking up. When I find a whole row of costumes hanging, I snigger. What the actual fuck? I push the hangers down along the pole and then slowly push each outfit aside. Most are some variation of a similar-looking ensemble—a high-collared black button-up jacket with orange stitching. Above the costumes on a shelf is a clear plastic tub filled with what looks like wigs.