I Just Need You - J. Nathan Page 0,81

stopped his ridiculous dance and turned to me, his face suddenly serious. “You throw like a girl.”

My eyes flared. “I am a girl.”

“Yeah.” His lips pulled up in one corner. “Sometimes I forget.”

I stuck out my tongue. “Idiot.”

“Loser.”

We both laughed as he tossed me a perfect spiral which I caught easily. Growing up with a football phenom taught me some impressive skills.

“Maybe by the time we go to college, there’ll be more female football players,” he said as I tossed him back the ball.

I scrunched up my face, completely thrown by his admission. “You think I’m good enough to play?”

He shrugged. “You’re better than most of the guys on my team.”

I smiled on the inside, never letting my brother know how much his words meant to me. He thought I was good. Cole Thatcher, football player extraordinaire, thought I was good.

* * *

I stood on the sideline under the unbearable August sun. There was no reprieve from an Alabama summer. Pool water turned to bath water, and lakes were overcrowded. So, unless you were brave enough to jump into a cold shower, you dealt with the heat. And out there in the open stadium, the sun beat down like a mother.

A couple players ran over to the sideline, pulling off their shiny red helmets revealing damp hair and sweaty red faces. The once menacing black paint trailed like tear drops down their cheeks. They grabbed the water bottles I extended to them. “Thanks,” the shorter one uttered, while the taller downed the contents of his without taking a breath.

They tossed me back the empty bottles. I grabbed two more from the bench and searched for anyone else looking for sustenance. When no one caught my eye, I hurried to my back-up supply in the big jug behind the bench and filled the empty bottles.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Ugh. That freaking voice.

“Get your ass over here.”

I turned, eyeing the asshole approaching me with nothing but disgust. And while I had a million comebacks for his inappropriate comments, I held my tongue—at least for the time being. I needed to be there. A prick like him wasn’t going to drive me away.

“Didn’t you see me motioning for you out there?” he growled.

Yup. I shook my head. “Sorry.”

“Well, give me a damn drink,” he ordered, colder than usual.

I bit down on my bottom lip as I handed him the bottle, wishing I’d spit in it first.

He ripped it from my hand. “Coach might’ve gotten one with tits this time,” he said to no one in particular. “But she’s sure dumb as dirt.”

I sucked back a sharp breath.

“Grady!” a deep voice shouted. “That’s enough.”

I froze, startled that someone actually had the balls to stand up to the three-hundred pound brute.

Grady’s eyes lifted over my shoulder. A cold calculated grin—nearly concealed by his pathetic attempt at a beard—tugged at his lips. “This don’t concern you, Brooks.”

“Leave her alone,” the quarterback warned.

Grady laughed wickedly before his eyes shot back to mine. “Don’t get your hopes up, sweetheart. Brooks ain’t nobody’s Prince Charming. He’d fuck you then ditch you in a matter of seconds.” Grady downed the water and tossed the bottle to the ground as he lumbered away.

I didn’t turn around. I knew who Caden Brooks was. I’d known before I even arrived on campus. Junior star quarterback. His conquests epic, making his way from his home state of California to Alabama in grand-freaking-style. And his looks…well, he certainly was pretty. If football didn’t work out, his dirty blond hair, blue eyes, and body people bowed down to would be gracing underwear billboards in Times Square in no time. But the last thing I needed to see was Brooks waiting for a thank you. Waiting for me to fawn all over him like every other girl.

Not a chance in hell that was happening.

“You okay?” Brooks asked from somewhere behind me.

My head whipped around, my dark ponytail slapping me in the face. My eyes locked on his sweaty face, his eyes prominent in the bright afternoon sun. “I could’ve handled it,” I scowled.

His head recoiled, the lack of appreciation catching him off guard. “Yeah, looked like you were handling it.” Of course he recovered. Guys accustomed to people kissing their asses always recovered, never letting anyone see them falter. As if on cue, his features sobered. I watched it happen. I watched him realize I wasn’t worth his time.

I wasn’t. Nor would I ever want to be. I hated Caden Brooks. I hated him with everything I had left in the world.

“No worries,” he said. “I won’t make that mistake again.” He turned and walked toward the other end of the sideline.

I didn’t need him.

I didn’t need anyone.

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