JACK'S POV
Lacrosse practice is no fucking joke. And neither is Coach Pierson owning a damn whistle. Every time that thing makes a sound, I want to rip it from his neck and burn it. Because one whistle means one burpee, and we're teetering on 50 right now.
"Good work, boys," Coach Pierson finally says, clapping his hands together. "Bring it in, bring it in."
Rafe and Johnny come up from behind me, patting me on the shoulders before taking my sides as we make our way over to Coach Pierson and the rest of the team.
As Captain of the team, it's my responsibility to ensure that everyone is carrying their weight around here. Out of all the other high schools, Sinclair Prep holds the #1 spot in lacrosse, so I'd say we're doing a fine job.
"Tomorrow's practice is canceled because I'm heading out of town for the rest of the week," Coach Pierson says, and everyone fake boos. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, enough with the bullshit tears."
He goes on to ramble about something else when my eyes happen to look up at the bleachers, finding Anastasia sitting there â her shoulders covered in a crocheted sweater. She's with Molly Lawson, who also happens to be a pain in my ass. Has been since I've known her.
"Carrington, you good?" Coach Pierson asks as he walks over to me, which gets me to snap out of my thoughts.
"Yessir," I nod, bringing my attention back to the field. He gives me a skeptical look, but then claps me on the back before walking away.
And that's when I make the mistake of looking back up at Anastasia. Because her eyes are on me this time, just like mine are on hers. I can't let her think that I was staring, that she fascinates me, so I give her a conceited chuckle.
I make my way over to my friends, but Rafe's looking at me with curiosity. "What was that about?" he asks when I approach him.
"What was what about?" I ask, playing dumb.
"Why were you checking out the new girl?"
I scoff at him and then say, "I wasn't checking her out."
Rafe gives me a look like he doesn't believe me, which doesn't surprise me because he's been my best friend since we were born and knows when I'm lying. "She's Chef Moore's daughter, I'm just saying."
"Yeah, and?"
"And...that shit will do damage to your reputation."
"Leave it alone, Rafe," Johnny calls out before I can respond. That's Johnny for you. Always having my back. Sometimes I think he's too good to be hanging out with me and Rafe. But I'm not complaining; he's the greatest friend ever.
"You don't know what you're talking about, Rafe," I say.
"I caught you looking at her way too many times in the last 5 minutes. If Jordana sees that shit, all hell will break loose."
"Jordana and I aren't together. We never were."
"Yeah? Tell that to her. That girl has your kids' names already picked out."
"I'm not doing this right now," I say, pushing at his shoulder as I go to walk past him.
"I'm serious, J. That girl's not for you, so just leave it alone."
I turn around to face him and open my arms out wide. "Consider it left," I state, before spinning back around and walking off the field.
***
That confrontation back on the lacrosse field with Jordana stopping me as I was trying to pass her was enough to get my blood boiling. That girl knows where we stand â AKA, nowhere â and yet, she continues to cling. You'd think that me sleeping with her best friend would get her to hate me, yet here we are.
I take a cold shower after practice to help with any muscle soreness, then slip on a pair of black sweats and a white t-shirt once I've dried off.
I'd never admit it to him, but Rafe was right. I was checking out Anastasia way too many times. How do you expect me to help myself when someone is that beautiful? And it's not just her physical looks that are beautiful, it's this way about her. She seems introverted, yet something tells me she's not afraid to speak her mind. Social status doesn't mean shit to her, and I find that attractive. I'm so used to people wanting to be my friend for the perks. It's almost hard to know who to trust.
I push the locker room door to the outside open and there she is. It's almost like I can't escape her. My idealistic ass likes to think that that's a sign; like we're meant to keep crossing paths for some reason.
Shit, maybe Rafe's right again, maybe I am a romantic.
Some guy calls out to me in passing so I just respond with, "Later man."
When I look back at Anastasia, she's studying me. Damn, I wish I appeared more put-together. My hair is still soaking from the shower.
I can tell that she tries to pretend she wasn't looking at me when she frantically starts scrolling through her phone. I think I make her nervous in a good way.
"Eavesdropping again, I see," I tease her. If I can't show her how I feel, then teasing will have to do. I don't mean to taunt her, I'm simply trying to flirt with her without making it obvious. She doesn't even try defending herself this time, so I say, "Not even going to deny it this time?"
"What does it matter? Would you believe me if I did?"
Her question catches me off-guard, even though the answer is yes. I would believe her because something tells me that she's the trustworthy type.
I have to get closer to her so I drop my duffle bag that's creating unnecessary space between us and give her just a taste of what I'm hoping she wants to hear.
"Maybe. If you made a good argument," I confess.
But then she does it again. She catches me off-guard.
"I shouldn't have to argue my point. You should believe me regardless."
"That so?"
"Mhm," she says.
"How can I believe someone I don't even know?"
"I don't know. Trust."
"Well, how can I trust someone I don't even know?"
She pauses for a second and then finally says, "Guess you can't."
"Guess I can't," I agree despite the fact that I want to know more about her.
Damn, why do I have to be so cold? Why can't I just show her what I'm feeling instead of pretending like it can never exist.
This is why an asshole like me doesn't deserve a kind girl like her.
Suddenly, I hear Chef Moore call out, "Anastasia, there you are!"
Anastasia doesn't catch it, but her dad looks at me with a warning that says, 'stay away from my daughter'. Fuck, I guess I wasn't hiding my emotions as well as I thought I was when it comes to her, which means I must retreat to my douchebag ways.
"'Chef Moore," I mockingly salute.
Yup, I'm a fucking prick.