Yannik
"I saw him with your stuff the other day."
Even though Nessa just jumps from one thing to another, I know exactly who she's talking about.
"Those sunglasses didn't suit me anyway."
The lighter spins between my fingers, the cheap click filling the silence. I haven't used it since the toilet stall door shut behind me.
It feels like using it will send me to the moment when I heard his voiceâlow, roughâasking me to stop, almost begging.
Motherfucker. Who the hell does he think he is to reject me?
And why the hell does he keep my head in a loop, recalling his face, so stupidly perfect?
"Oh, so you're into charity now," Nessa chuckles from the other side of the wall. "Looks like Cormac's not crazy after all," she adds, laughter muffled by the stall door.
"Cormac's a bitch," I snap, trying to flick the lighter on again. Nothing. Just another thing refusing to work for me. "Immature little bitch who makes up scenarios in his head and pretends they're real."
Nessa laughs loudly, her voice echoing. She knows better than to draw attention, but here she is, amused by my shit.
"Did you try telling him about it?" Nessa cackles again, and I grip the lighter tighter. "Maybe then he'd leave the new guy alone."
Oh, this fucking dipshit.
He totally deserves it. This Jones guy thinks he's better than everybody else? Fine. Let him squirm. There's no way I'm helping himânot even if he comes crawling on his knees.
"You know, my brother told me Cormac went nuts for the tryouts."
My mind flashes.
Tiago. On his knees. Desperate. Except he doesn't look pathetic. No, he looks...hot. Too hot. The kind of hot that leaves a burn, even in my thoughts.
"Did he also tell you he's Cormac's bitch?" I shoot back.
The stall door squeaks, and Nessa's shadow shifts in the crack beneath mine.
"You're still angry, aren't you?" Her voice carries that concern I hate.
Of course I'm angry. Not at Sam or TJ. Not even at Tiago. I'm angry because of this stupid feeling twisting in my chestâa craving I don't want to name.
Well, actually, I'm so fucking angry at Tiago. He's the reason for this feeling after all.
"It's a shitty thing to do. He didn't even stand a chance," I mutter, stepping out of the stall.
"So you're not just doing charity now, but also caring about people?" Nessa smirks, leaning against the wall.
I ignore her, stuffing the useless lighter into my pocket.
"What's his name again?"
The words leave my mouth too quickly. "Tiago Jones."
Nessa follows me out of the locker room, her silence smug, like she keeps to herself a comment she doesn't want me to know about. Good thing, because I won't tell her much.
She doesn't need to know about the listâor any of my shit, for that matter. We just hang out occasionally, bitch about cheerleaders and everyone else, then go back to pretending we don't know each other outside the locker room.
It's not like she's my friend. I just need someone to talk about girlhood withâwithout the eye rolls or blushing like a virgin at an orgy.
Besides, we both can't stand Claire Bleet, and that's enough common ground to make it work.
Involuntarily, I find myself seeking the place where we were that day. It comes back to me in a tormenting memory: the smell of his cologne, the heat of his tanned skin, the words and art covering his hands, running from his fingers all the way to his shoulders, disappearing beneath the fabric of his T-shirt.
"So, what's the truth, Yan?" Nessa's voice cuts through from behind me.
The truth is, this boy has something nobody else does. Something I've never encountered before.
He has the charm of an innocent soul but the face card of someone who could send you straight to therapy.
"I wasn't flirting with anybody," I lie. "And there's nothing going on between me and Cormac, so I don't get why he's being so protective over nothing."
Actually, I do understand. He's used to getting everything he wants because it all comes with a price tag. I like messing with guys like him. But Cormac has too much in his hands, and now he's sharing it with me.
I might suck at science, but I know people. More than that, I know Cormacâand what he's capable of, fair or not.
I want the power he holds, so I keep him at arm's length.
To be honest, it wouldn't be as satisfying if I took what I wanted the first time I had the chance. Swaying him back and forth, testing how much he can endure before snapping, is far better than just scribbling his name onto the list.
A sudden grip on my top pulls me to a stop, and I freeze. From nearby, voices drift out from the storage room near the locker room, giving me a clue as to why Nessa grabbed me.
We exchange curious glances before moving back toward the locker room door, close enough to duck inside if anyone steps out of the storage room.
"Please, Coach," I hear his voice again. There's something about the way he's begging that makes me pause, savoring it.
Nessa mouths his name, her lips moving soundlessly. I nod to confirm it.
"I'm sorry, Tiago, but there's nothing I can do about it." Beckett's voice is laced with regret, which catches me off guard. I've known this grumpy man for a long time, but I've never heard him sound so apologetic.
"But you said you saw my records!" Tiago snaps, his frustration palpable. For a moment, it pulls me back to when I was so mad at him resisting me that I thought he deserved to be out. But now, hearing him like this, I feel his desperation like a weight in my chest. "I was the best QB in West High history since I got there..."
Hold on.
Don't do this.
But I don't know if I ever really intended to. A part of me says I just didn't want to ruin the fun. The other part is screaming to go back in time, to freeze that fleeting moment when our lips almost touched.
"You're preaching to the choir, my boy." I can't see Beckett or Tiago, but I imagine Coach shaking his head, powerless and disappointed. "I'm as disgusted as you are, but things here aren't that simple. You need the entire teamâand especially the captainâto agree before you can make it."
I hear Tiago take a sharp, frustrated breath, slicing through the heavy silence.
"God, this is bullshit."
That's my boy.
"I'm sorry, Tiago. I really am." Beckett's voice grows louder, approaching. I pull Nessa back into the locker room, pushing the door shut behind us, but not all the way. We leave a small gapâjust enough to peek through.
Coach leaves the storage room as if he's fleeing the conversation. In a way, he isâleaving Tiago behind, alone with his desperation, haunted by his troubles.
The urge to storm out and stand in front of him, to make him care less and forget about the stupid team, feels strange.
But the desire to do whatever it takes to get him on the team? That's even stranger.
***
"Yannik Moore," TJ drawls my name in a playful tone, circling around me like I'm a rare exhibit in the world's most exclusive museum. His eyes scan me with exaggerated curiosity. "Haven't seen you in a month of Sundays."
"Piss off, T," I say, more politely than he deserves. "I'm way too sober to deal with you right now."
"Alright, alright, calm down, you fierce leprechaun!" TJ giggles, raising his hands in mock surrenderâor maybe just to shield himself from the punch he knows he's asking for with that comment.
I glance toward the cheerleaders' table, already knowing I'll find Nessa discreetly looking my way. Sure enough, she isâsneaking glances in a way that won't draw attention from the other cheerleaders.
I know she's quietly pleased to see me back around her brother's group. We both know he won't last long if I leave him with TJ for too much time.
"Here, have a cookie," Sam says, offering me a bag. I shake my head. "Come on, are you mad at me too?"
"Of course I am," I mutter, tearing my eyes away from Nessa's table to scan the room for someone else.
I'm not hungry. I'm not even thinking about eating. And, apparently, I'm not the only one.
I spot Tiago sitting a few tables away, completely alone. No tray, no chips or any other snackâjust a book in front of him. He's flicking through its pages, so engrossed he doesn't notice Cormac walking up to him.
From this distance, I can't hear a word. But my stomach twists as I watch Cormac's lips move, spewing something at Tiago.
"Here comes trouble," TJ chuckles, sliding into the seat next to me. "Does Cormac realize we're not even making it to the first game if he keeps scaring off every new player?"
"What positions are still open?" I ask, though my eyes remain glued to Cormac and Tiago.
"Oh, man, I don't know," TJ mumbles, rattling off the changes the Wolves have faced since the year began. "Fullback. One of the ends. Let's see..."
Tiago's jaw tightens visibly. He says something back to Cormac, and I don't need to hear the words to know it's a defensive response.
"QB," Sam interjects. "Noah left for college, remember?"
"Wasn't Cormac supposed to take that spot?" TJ asks.
That's it. That's the position.
"Well, not anymore," I say, hopping off the table with purpose. "Because I got you dickheads a hell of a QB."
Sam and TJ shout something after me, their voices swallowed by the cafeteria's buzz as I make my way to the table I've been watching.
I know exactly what I'm doing as I slide my hand across Cormac's back. He falls silent in an instant, his mouth snapping shut as his eyes widen. My hand lingers on his lower back, and his confusion is almost amusing.
"Hey there, boys!" My lips curl into a lopsided smile as I look at Cormac. The moment feels undeniably wrong, but I press on, giving him a light hug before turning my attention to Tiago. "What are you two up to?"
"Small talk," Cormac mutters, forcing the words out. His face betrays the truthâhe's lying through his teeth.
But when I meet Tiago's gaze, it's like I haven't seen him in forever. Those piercing teal-blue eyes hold me in place. His jaw is still tight, his teeth clenched. My gaze drifts from his broad shoulders down to his hands, landing on the letters inked across his fingers.
Hopeless.
"Let's go. You need to eat something," Cormac says, his hand landing on my waist as he tries to pull me away.
Even so, I don't budge, slipping out of his grasp and staying exactly where I am.
"I'll actually stay. There's something I wanted to talk over with Tiago," I say, throwing him a sidelong glance. His eyebrows knit together as his eyes remain glued to Cormac's face.
"With..." Cormac starts, but he doesn't finish the question. Instead, he rolls his eyesâtrying to be discreetâand finally lets me go, heading back toward the table I came from. "Whatever."
The way he spits the word tells me he's furious. Mission accomplished.
When I turn back to Tiago, his angry gaze is now fixed on me.
"Feeling grumpy, aren't you, Big Boy?" A wide smile spreads across my face. Seeing him now, for the first time in... what, a week? It pulls me back to the last time he was this close.
So hot. So vulnerable.
So high.
"What do you want?"
Wow. That was unnecessarily harsh.
So harsh I freeze in place, calculating how likely it is I'll end up telling him to go fuck himself if I open my mouth.
He doesn't wait. He looks away, gathering his stuffâthat happens to be the History bookâbefore standing up. Then, with almost deliberate care, he hands me the sunglasses I gave him that time.
"Keep them," I say, forcing the words out. My voice sounds tense, even though I'm trying to sound casual.
"I don't want to owe you," Tiago replies, his voice softer now. "So just take the sunnies and leave me alone."
The words echo in my head, hitting something deeper than I expect.
Hold on. Don't do this.
"So now you're angry at me?" I ask, needing reassurance more than a real answer.
Tiago doesn't reply. Instead, he gestures toward the table where I'd been sittingâwhere Cormac is now.
"Your boyfriend thinks I want to root* you," he says, lowering his voice. I stare, confused, wondering what's wrong with him rooting for me. "And let's start with the fact that you have a boyfriend..."
"Why would you root for me, though?" I ask, tilting my head. Tiago's eyes widen, then he exhales so heavily I can feel his frustration. I once again think of all the possible meanings of rooting just to come to the conclusion: "You're a weirdo."
"Just stay away from me, Yannik," he demands, his voice firm. "I mean it. You give me trouble."
I take a deep breath, clenching my fists to stop myself from hiding the piercing in my noseâor giving Tiago a slap hard enough to make him forget about Cormac altogether.
By trouble, he better be meaning the huge-ass boner he had the other day. It's not my fault, thoughâthe boy's too sensitive.
"Okay," I manage to say. The word feels like gravel in my mouth, therefore my voice sounds unnatural.
But Tiago doesn't seem relieved by my surrender.
"Can I use your phone real quick? Mine's dead."
He doesn't reply, just pulls his phone out of his pocket. I make sure his attention stays on my face and away from the screen as I type. His eyebrows are still furrowed, his teeth clenched.
"Cormac's not my boyfriend, by the way," I say casually, my voice softer now as I hand the phone back to him. I wait a second before letting go once his fingers close around it. "I don't do boyfriends, Santiago."
For a fleeting moment, something changes in his eyes. Relief. A quick spark that vanishes just as quicklyâa lightning flash that says he actually cares.
Maybe it's guilt, suddenly lifted from his shoulders. Or maybe it's the green light he's been waiting for.
"It's Tiago," he corrects, his voice sharp and final.
It's the last thing he says before stepping forward, forcing me to move back as he brushes past and strides out of the cafeteria.
I wobble back to my table, pulling out my phone. A small smile tugs at my lips as I accept the friend request I just sent to myself from his account.
Santiago Jones.
His profile picture will haunt me in my wet dreams.
***
Root*: Australian slang, standing for fuck in American English.