The Playbook

“Jake,” he grins, amusement in his eyes, “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I think we need to at least try to get along; we’re teammates, after all. I’m the captain of this team and I should be setting an example for these idiots.” I’m sure he’s fucking with me, but I go along with his game.

“Whatever. I’m here to win. That’s all. Whether or not you like me is the last thing on my mind.”

“You really think you can just waltz in here and turn this team around?” He lets out a low laugh, his expression harsh. “You really do have tickets on yourself, don’t you?”

“I have talent. If embracing that is being cocky, then that’s what I am,” I shrug. “You lot are useless. Everybody is going to know that because from here on, CHFC is going to win. It’s not going to be hard to connect the dots that I’m the difference.”

Murray’s eyes blaze. He glares at me, his fists in tight balls beside him. The other guys stand behind him in support, looking equally pissed. I sigh and rub my neck. This is only going to make things worse.

“You think you’re that good? Prove it,” Murray sneers.

“I plan to. That’s the whole point, remember?” I remind him. “You wanna make this interesting, I’m all for it. I can wipe the floor with this entire team.”

“Fuck, you’re unbelievable,” Murray says. He shakes his head in dismay.

“Your mum said the same thing to me last night,” I reply, “right before she planted herself on my cock.”

“You fucking—” He lunges at me, but Luke and Ezra hold him back. I laugh, my arms crossed over my chest. “Geez, you can’t take a joke. Which is surprising, considering you’re playing for one.”

“You and me, Tanner. First to score three goals wins. Winner picks the loser’s punishment.”

I shrug. “Easy. Make it five if you like.”

Coach calls us over for a pep talk, not that I need it. I’m pumped and ready to prove myself. Murray spins some bullshit about being a team and playing to win, but I’m not even listening. I’m too busy figuring out what depraved, embarrassing, soul-destroying things I can come up with for his punishment.

“Jake, got a second?” I look up and see Serj. I glance at Karl, who nods impatiently. Serj pulls me aside, his expression concerned.

“Watch yourself out there, okay? I know you want this to work out because I know how much football means to you. Just go out there and play and ignore all the other shit, okay?”

“Sure thing, Serj,” I mumble, looking straight ahead out into the stands. I spy the photographer I decked the other night standing on the sidelines. Great. “I gotta go. We’ll talk later,” I promise him. I race out onto the field with the other guys, my mind on one thing.

Scoring three goals and leaving Murray to eat my dust.

What the hell just happened out there? In my whole career, I’ve never played a game where I’ve not gotten a single possession, let alone goal. Until now.

I storm into the change rooms after the guys, and grab Murray by his forearm. He turns around and plants his fist on my jaw, knocking me to the floor. The other guys stand around so I stay on the floor. I’m pissed off, but I’m not stupid.

“You got something to say, Tanner?” he snarls.

“You set me up,” I retort, getting to my feet. “How the fuck could I win that bet when none of you would let me even look at the ball?” Dean and Mike at least have the decency to look sorry for me, while the rest of the guys just laugh.

“Little Jakey,” Murray says, grinning, “you’re so cocky but so, so stupid. What did you think was going to happen? I knew the second you agreed I was going to win. These guys just helped me make sure of it.”

“That’s not fucking fair and you know it. There was no chance of me getting a touch, let alone three fucking goals. You can fuck your bet. Whatever else you have planned, you can just forget it.”

My jaw clenches, pain ripping through it. I can already feel it bruising, but I ignore it, because I’m too damn angry to focus on anything other than this.

“A bet’s a bet, Jakey. Don’t tell me you’re going to wimp out on me? I’ve already thought up your punishment,” he says.

“No fucking way, Murray. You’re a piece of shit. I’m not scared of you. I don’t know what your fucking problem is, but I don’t give a shit about you or your piece of crap little team here.” The pain in my jaw is nearly unbearable, and for a second I wonder if he’s broken it. Man, that guy can land a good punch. If I didn’t hate him so much, I’d be complimenting him on it.

I stalk over to my locker and yank my bag out, keen to get out of there as fast as I can. I’m on the verge of calling Serj and telling him to fuck his management, followed by a call to Karl so I can tell him to fuck his football team, when Dean approaches me.

“Look, a bet is a bet,” he says quietly, leaning against the lockers. He glances back at Murray, who is too preoccupied with himself to notice we’re talking. “These guys will never let up on you unless you go through with this. You’ve got four years here, mate. The punishment isn’t that bad anyway. Trust me.”

I turn to look at him “Yeah? I follow through with this, and then what? They keep refusing to give me the ball? What’s the point in being here?”

“To get paid. They’ll give up eventually. Trust me, mate. I was you last year.” He shrugs, and then walks off. I call out to him.