Yet, here I am, anticipating my name being announced as homecoming king.
It’s not the title I want. It’s the girl, the future homecoming queen, Tiger Lyons. Yes, that’s her real name.
I can’t talk, my name is Cash King.
With a name like that, I’m destined to be a pimp or a professional athlete. And believe me, I’m doing everything in my power to make the latter happen.
Ms. O’Donnell, our principal climbs the stairs to the stage. Not long now. Then I’ll have the girl I can’t get out of my head, the one I think about even while on the football field, in my arms. I’ve had a serious crush on her since I first noticed girls.
She’s everything, and I’d do anything to be with her, but two things keep that from happening. First, Tiger’s dating Brad Watson, the town’s golden boy, and has been since our sophomore year. Honestly, I don’t know how she’s tolerated that tool for two years. I can barely stomach him for two minutes.
The second and biggest reason is that she and I are not in the same league. Oh, I’m good-looking enough, and if it weren’t for the fact that I was a member of the King family, I’d take her away from Brad faster than he can say second string.
The name King in this town, though … let’s just say that my family isn’t only from the wrong side of the tracks. We blew the tracks to hell, stole the scrap metal, then beat the crap out of someone with what was left. Good ol’ dad and my uncles … pieces of shit.
But it turns out the same characteristics that make the men in my family scary as hell and regularly in trouble with the law—size, aggression, being cunning as fuck—also make a pretty damn good quarterback. But no matter how good I am at football, no parent wants a King boy dating their daughter.
“Is this thing on?” Ms. O’Donnell says into the microphone. “The time has come to crown Ryder High’s new homecoming king and queen.” She dramatically displays a white envelope, then slides her finger under the sealed flap.
My pulse revs and surges in my veins when she clears her throat, then explodes into overdrive when she announces, “Tiger Lyons and Cash King.”
My teammates hoot and holler behind me. They don’t care about this shit, but Brad Watson was one of the nominees, and we celebrate anytime he gets knocked down a peg or two.
I start to make my way to the stage but stop in my tracks. Hoo-lee shit. I momentarily forget where I am and what I’m supposed to be doing. I’ve never seen Tiger look so beautiful. And I should know. I look at her a lot. We have nearly every class together, and because my last name is King and hers is Lyons, we usually sit close to one another.
Six weeks ago, she and I got paired up to work on our science project. I’ve had more than a month of hanging out with her after school, of getting to see how freakin’ smart and funny she is. More than a month to lose my absolute shit over this girl.
Her long curly hair is piled on top of her head, exposing the delicious curve where her neck and shoulder meet. My mouth goes completely dry when I see what she’s wearing. The dress is sewn onto her. She looks like a princess, and my heart takes a nosedive.
Why am I here? There’s no way we can ever be together, but that doesn’t make me want it any less.
My teammate Donny Lewis shoves me and knocks me out of my stupor. “Cash, get your ass up there.”
I pull on my cockiest smile, remind myself who I am on the football field—because that’s where I’m worth something—and make my way to the stage. The student body president loops sashes over our heads with our new titles written on them. Then she places a couple of plastic gold crowns on our heads, all to a cheering crowd.
Ms. O’Donnell makes a parting motion with her hands, and everyone steps off the dance floor. “Now the king and queen will have their homecoming dance together.”
I offer Tiger my arm and escort her down the stairs at the side of the stage. “I’ll Be” by Edwin McCain begins to play, and I take her hand in mine and slip my arm around her waist. Her free hand goes behind