Deviant King (Royal Elite 1)

“I never thought athletes were interested in existentialism theories.”

He raises a thick eyebrow. “Aren’t you an athlete, too?”

“Touché. I should’ve said football players.”

“Because we’re so dumb?” There’s still no threat in his tone. If anything, it’s filled with mild curiosity.

“I didn’t mean that.” My cheeks tint. I don’t want to come off judgemental.

“Well, we can be.” He points at his book. “So what do you think about existentialism?”

I’m taken aback. He didn’t ask what I know about it, but what I think about it. So he’s sure I read about it. But then again, I wouldn’t have associated Nausea and Sartre to existentialism if I didn’t at least know something about it.

“Hmm.” I lean back against the stone wall. “I believe it’s a negative and a nihilistic philosophy.”

His posture quirks up as if he’s a kid given his favourite toy. “So you don’t believe that existence precedes essence?”

“Not per se. It can be true to some extent, but the whole theory is hyper-individualist. A person isn’t an entity that can’t be touched or manipulated.” I tip my chin.

Challenge that, mister. Your ace striker is a class one manipulator.

Cole seems smart. Probably to Aiden’s level of high intelligence, but like Aiden, he doesn’t show it.

I can bet money that he knows about Aiden’s true character. I suspect Xander knows, too.

They couldn’t possibly have known Aiden for all these years and not detect that something is wrong.

His brow quirks as he closes the book and lets it fall to his lap. “What if the person’s lack of existentialism causes them to be a target of manipulation?”

I approach him and sit beside him on the grass. “Then do you believe those who manipulate have a sense of essence?”

He gives an easy smile. “Perhaps they suffer from an existential crisis, too.”

“In that case, and according to the theory, people who manipulate can be manipulated. It’s an endless circle.”

“It is.” He shakes the book in front of me. “You read this, yes?”

I nod, but I don’t mention that the main character, Antoine, bored me with his existential crisis. He seemed very psychologically unwell and needed some psychotherapy. It doesn’t help that I was never a fan of Jean-Paul Sartre’s theory.

“Have you ever thought why Antoine Roquentin kept questioning his existence?” Cole asks.

“Because he’s an existentialism freak and a self-insertion from Sartre.”

He chuckles, the sound easy. “That’s one way to look at it, but maybe you should read it again and search for some hidden clues.”

Before I can say anything, he drops the book in my lap. “Aiden gave it to me, so keep it in good shape.”

Aiden gave it to him? I never thought he’d be interested in philosophy, let alone existentialist theories.

Cole and I spend the next fifteen minutes discussing Sartre’s work and some of his philosopher contemporaries. It’s a heated conversation since Cole and I disagree on almost everything, but it manages to keep my head off what’s happening at the pitch.

We switch to music, and I laugh when Cole says that he likes Coldplay. “At least we agree on that.”

“At least your taste in music is better than your taste in philosophy.”

“Hey!” I bump my shoulder against his.

Smiling, he hops to his feet and offers me his hand. “Come on. It’s time for me to practice like a dumb athlete.”