by Elena Monroe
Nyx started chuckling, like anything I said was actually funny. He even pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to force it to die down into a more controllable state.
He patted my shoulder before he walked backwards shouting so effortlessly. “Keep me, my feelings, and Luna out of your mouth. Oh, and Bolton? Next time? Just apologize.”
Practice sucked more than usual. Coach was showing off, which really just meant we were working twice as hard to back up his shit-talking.
We had an hour break to eat between practice ending and the game beginning. Every guy on the team knew weighing yourself down was the worst thing you could do for yourself.
I didn't even bother changing out of my under armor, it was going to stay on under my gear anyways.
I walked right by the cheerleader playing coy with me earlier, throwing a smile her way, and making sure I brushed past her enough to get her attention.
I wasn't actually interested.
Hell, she didn't have purple hair and an attitude problem, so my dick really counted himself out. It was worth having her smile at me again, the rival, a small confidence boost.
The coffee cart outside was almost always open and stocked. If I couldn't have food before a game, at least I could pour some acidic coffee into my empty stomach.
The guy wouldn't even take the money I pushed forward. Instead, he told me, “Just win tonight.”
And yet, they wondered why my ego was bullet proof, and I wore an invisible crown.
No one ever stopped to think they elected me. They built me up, and the monster I am was really because of them.
I was avoiding Nyx, like a bitch, and using my hour to walk around campus, far from the field and my teammates. It was eerily quiet.
The cheerleaders were most likely warming up, and the rest of campus was gearing up for the game. Everyone always attended, even if you didn't care for football. It was the blue and maroon running through their veins, the school pride.
I walked past the girls’ dormitory when Arianna flew out in a hurry, and I took a big step back moving out of the way of her clumsiness.
Her legs were bare. She wore socks that landed at her ankles and a cheerleading skirt more modest than our rivals, but by no means long, which landed mid-thigh.
Her arms were covered with white spandex and her purple hair was pulled into a high ponytail with a big bow hiding the fact that it was purple.
I couldn't rip my eyes from her. This was the most I'd seen of her, and it felt like a move on her part.
Teasing me.
“Why aren't you on the field?” she asked me, while smoothing down her skirt, like that would magically make it longer.
“We always have an hour break between same day practice and the game.”
Shocking her and even myself, my voice wasn't rude or condescending. It was void of all the dark feelings that transformed my words into jabs.
I searched her legs for any obvious marks. The same kind we each had and the light bulb in my head went off.
Fuck waiting for Cheyanne’s voodoo magic bullshit. I made sure to circle her catch the back side of her thighs with my gaze as I sat down on the steps, hiding my real objective.
She probably just assumed I was objectifying her; that part was true too. Arianna had the best pair of unblemished legs I had ever seen. Minus her Doc Martens, I could actually appreciate their length, their perfect cappuccino colored skin, and how much I was dying to have them wrapped around me—to be her throne again.
“I'm not fulfilling some cheerleader fantasy if you win tonight.” She definitely felt my eyes glaze over her skin.
“You sure about that? I'll even put my phone on silent.”
She folded her arms under her chest, not having the effect she wanted. I was busy making this my new personal favorite fantasy. “I don't make the same mistakes twice, Bolton.”
“Mistakes are just obstacles. Thought you were a fighter, Arianna.”
I got up, walking away from my words, which I was sure held the weight I wanted them to. I didn't get far before she caught up completely. We were both headed to the field for the game.
I knew a shortcut that led right to the boys' locker room. I knew all the shortcuts. She was babbling on about our project, when I stopped listening.
Right outside the entrance to the guys’ locker room, my hand quickly caught her hip and gently pushed her against the wall. Her lips were parted, and her eyes begged me for what I was about to do next. I leaned down into her space, tilted my head to the right, and let her soft lips press against mine innocently.
I pulled away only enough to throw in her face: “Anyone tell you that you talk too much?”
Her palm hit my chest, but I didn't move. Compared to on the field, that was a light breeze on a fall day. My forearm was still against the wall, and I was still leaning into her.
“What was that for?”
I pushed off the wall leaving her devoid of an answer altogether, and I pulled open the door to make my way down the hallway to the locker room. I didn't notice that she followed me, until I heard her footsteps—light taps behind me.
I didn't turn around or speak, hiding my smirk, as I tasted her still on my lips. Peaches, Chapstick, and all the spark that crackled against my lips like the unused body parts they were.
“Just because we made out one time doesn't mean you can do whatever you want.”
I pushed open the big double doors and quickly came to the conclusion that while I was stuck on her taste, she just walked into the guys’ locker room.
I debated turning her around and pushing her out the doors.
Instead, I was gonna stay true to who I was: an asshole, who, as Arianna put it, wore an aluminum crown. She was in for the answer to the questions that she was begging me for: Why.
Simply put, she was mine, and no one was going to challenge the king.
Most of the guys were shirtless still, changing from their cardio soaked under gear to dry under armor. It was pointless.
I walked over to my locker, and she followed blissfully ignoring the concerned stares. I was forced to pay attention to her when she leaned next to my locker, only staring at me, expecting a reply.
“Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but you're in the guys’ locker room.”
Her eyes turned a darker hue, and her arms folded again in discontent. “And? Nowhere I haven't been before.”
I smirked down to the floor, avoiding giving her a victory over me. “Remember all the places you aren't supposed to be? This is one of them. We can talk all you want later.”
I pulled my padding up to my waist and secured it against my abs before I closed my locker.
The shoulder pads were all in a bin closest to the wall. She actually stayed next to my locker, probably because of the fear of seeing someone naked without wanting to.
Austin fell out of the formation of guys close to their lockers, padding up, to shoot her direction: “This is a guys’ locker room. Girls’ is across the hall.”
I laughed, grabbing pads and suiting up. I waved her over and pointed to the ties on the side for her to at least make herself useful if she wasn't going to take the warnings.
Nyx shot me a look of concern, before his eyes bobbed to one side, and I saw the coach coming. A girl in the guys’ locker room wouldn't be overlooked—Not even for me.
I grabbed her arm, keeping her in front of me as I snuck her out the door. She didn't like being manhandled, and her frustrated features said it without her having to.
I pulled her into me, letting her knock into my pads before I repeated our kiss from earlier, except this one was stimulated by her attitude. Our tongues touched gently before I pulled away, leaving her still frozen in our kiss.
I whispered between us, “It's called a good luck kiss. If you think I can't kiss you, then storm back in there and watch everyone avert their eyes.” I leaned down into her neck, placing a light kiss below her ear, whispering, “Because I'm king, they won't disobey me, and
you're mine.”
I didn't leave any time for her to respond, turning back into the locker room, leaving her still swooning from the stagnant attraction between us.
Once I crossed the threshold and the door closed in front of my face, I could already feel their taunting coming. All the guys jeered with their mocking.
I ignored them, going back to my locker and wrapping my fingers in the way I made a habit more than a need at this point.
Nyx bumped into me without any words, just a solid look that warranted thanks for looking out.
I nodded back in my own silent way. That was the thing that was irreplaceable about Nyx; we both hated talking and didn't actually need to.
The game was physically taxing, and every muscle in my body wrenched with ache, even the water pressure pouring out of the shower felt like torture.
Jasper was in the shower next to me, almost inconceivable, celebrating the win. He was dancing under the water when he turned towards me leaning over the shorter partition. “We celebrating tonight? Pizza shop? I'm fucking starving.”
For the record, he was always hungry, and I never celebrated.
Arianna
The whole game I felt distracted by Bolton, not him physically playing, but the way he felt on my lips long after the kiss was over.
The feeling was all consuming, and I nearly tripped on myself more than once. Kate shot me draggers with her eyes each time.
Other than the slight malfunctions, my first game wasn't terrible. I forgot some of the chants and ended up mouthing them. That went noticed by our captain and proclaimed “Queen Bitch.”
After the game, the girls headed to the locker room to shower and get changed, while Kate’s hand wrapped around my forearm pulling me back from the double doors.
“Is he gonna be a problem for you? I don't let girls use the team to get some football ass.”
I looked at her, half petrified and half concerned with what people thought. I still hated him, no matter how much I liked his mouth on mine. I knew how crazy that would be to explain… to anyone.
“No, no. He's not a problem.”
I couldn't even bring myself to say his name to her. That would only solidify that there was a thin line between hate and love; if I wasn't careful, I’d fall one way more than I was willing to.
She grilled me, waiting for the faintest reaction or slip up. I was unflinching; I was good in a crisis.
“Go shower, then Pizza Palace… Telling, not asking.” She slapped my ass playfully and forced me forward, switching gears from fearless leader to friend effortlessly.
I was impressed.
Girls like her, at least from my past experiences of being the new kid, didn't have dimension. They were 2D, all bitch, and no apologies.
Kate may be dubbed “Queen Bitch,” but she was so much more.
Pizza Palace was crawling with students—footballers, cheerleaders, supporters, even some facility all blending together in a sea of maroon and navy pride. Without a second thought, I searched the room for Bolton.
What was wrong with me?
I chanted, silently and in my mind, “you hate him… you hate him… you hate him…” hoping it was enough to keep the fine line from swallowing me whole.
Leo and Beau waved me over to the booth we sat in the last time I was here. This time, I contemplated not sliding in; last time, I nearly had to hop over a few bodies to escape.
I made up an excuse that I was going to the counter for a milkshake. I waited in the line with no real commitment to an actual milkshake, even though my stomach was twisting in envy of the thought.
Austin cut the line, leaning against the counter, waving me down, and asking, “What's it gonna be?”
My stomach convulsed, pushing me to say a chocolate shake and fries. I liked to dip them, mixing salty and sweet into one treat.
Austin ordered a burger and fries, but quickly added a veggie burger and fries with no salt to the end of his order. No doubt that part was for Kate.
He twisted around, now back against the counter, and he was suddenly serious. “It's not a good idea… you know that, right?”
With effort, I kept my features placid, almost innocent. I could never give you fully innocent; that never looked right on me. “The milkshake? Oh, I'm not lactose intolerant. No worries.”
He didn't even crack a smile. “Bolton. Bad idea.”
Austin was Bolton’s friend, making his statement all the more confusing. The waitress slid over my milkshake, as I contemplated not even engaging, but my silver tongue had other plans, like it always did.
“Bad ideas are kind of my thing.”
My hair bounced in a too bubbly way when I spun around, leaving Austin to judge what was good and bad for me without my blessing.
He shouted from behind me: “He's not coming!”
I spun around again with quizzical eyes, hoping he'd get to the point quicker.
“He never shows up here, so don't hold your breath.”
I watched him grab the tray of food, when I noticed the mark inside his wrist, similar to Luna’s and Bolton’s, but a different sign.
Taking a step to the right, I blocked his path and planted myself in front of him. “What's that? Tattoo? Birthmark?”
He stuttered around it, like he couldn't think on his toes. He finally spat out, “It’s a burn from years ago, Nancy Drew.”
I was fishing for reactions, glitches in his facade, answers that were honest instead of the bullshit he was feeding me.
“Luna and Bolton have them too. What are you guys…? A cult?”
Austin pulled down the sleeve of his flannel that he had over his black shirt in hopes to cover up what I already saw.
Pointless. I was ruthless type of relentless when it came to information I wanted.
“A cult? This is 2020, Arianna.”
He pushed past me, and I already found it boring without Bolton.
I headed for the door, when Jasper came in. (He was the jester, if we were still playing by royal titles.) He was loud and cocky, and if he wasn't laughing himself, he was making others hold their sides and flick away the tears. He was fun, but he wasn't living on the edge enough for me.
I needed a dangerous element to feel alive.
It all started when my mom died… I just kept finding new ways to feel the rush I'd get, and before I knew it, I wasn't just chasing danger; I was dangerous.
I waited for Jasper to commandeer the attention of everyone in the room so that I could slip out unnoticed, when as if appearing out of nowhere, Bolton stood against the doorway looking at me.
“Everyone said you don't show up here.”
I leaned against the opposite wall, where we were blocking any traffic from coming or going.
“I was forced against my will.”
I squinted at him. “Austin has the same mark/tattoo/thing you and Luna have.”
I wanted to catch him off guard and assess the damage it would do, if any at all. His features stayed in place—calm, cool, collected—in a way I had never seen someone maintain all day, every day.
It was my new favorite kind of danger, being kept in the dark from everything he felt. “And? Any new conclusions?”
He toyed with my desire to figure this place out and its occupants that were connected somehow, but I didn't know how deep that actually went or what the marks meant.
I shook my head in an obvious no, when he tilted his head towards the door. The cool air pinched my skin compared to the stale air inside the too crowded Pizza Palace.
I walked further away from the pizza shop, when he shouted, “Hold on!” from the door and went back inside. Drinking my milkshake I walked on the skinny ledge alongside another building, waiting and working out theories as to the marks.
Friendship tattoos? Too sentimental.
Actual birth marks? Too coincidental.
An actual burn? In the shape of astrology signs?
Definitely a cult.
Bolton breezed past me with two p
lates with two slices of pizzas piled on top. My milkshake was nearly gone and somehow he knew the hunger pains in my abdomen had moved on from twisting to a stabbing sensation to get my attention.
I didn't even ask where we were walking as I bit into a slice of pizza. A small piece of heaven broke through the dark vibes this school gave off when I moaned in pleasure.
He turned towards me all of a sudden, mid bite. “Are you religious or anything?”
I was too invested in feeding my hunger pains to truly be caught off guard by his deep question. “I think something up there is looking out for us, but I don't know what it is. I don't think anyone does.”
Facing forward and scanning his badge to enter the boys' dorm, he spoke again freely. “I'll tell you what the marks are in my room. Not here.”
In his room, I leaned against his desk, polishing off my pizza and completely ready to hear him confess the truth.
I egged him on, tortured with waiting, and anxious to know, “Well? Tell me already.”
He stood in front of me after dropping his phone and keycard on top of his bed, probably never to be seen again.
His room was a tornado of things flung around just like the last time I was granted permission inside.
He was stoic, giving consideration to take back the offer. Maybe he was just like everyone else and had moments of weakness.
“First, take your clothes off.”
Every part of my body was stunned, and my eyes widened. I wasn't sure the truth was worth being that vulnerable.
“What does that have to do with anything? I don’t think I want to know if it requires being naked.”
He started taking his shirt off in some solidarity pact to make me feel more comfortable. It didn't work.
“Can you for once listen to me? I need to check you for any marks. It's the only way to be sure.”
My eyes pinched like I had missed a chunk of this conversation that led to me being examined for a mark. “Hold up. Rewind. I don't have any marks.”
“I'm not taking any chances. Use my bathroom then, but check everywhere.”
I let my jean jacket drop down my shoulders to show him my bare arms to prove it to him. “See? Nothing. I'm not part of your weird cult, but I still want to know. Start talking.”
