Sworn Enemies - Rebel Hart Page 0,33

the top of the barrier to the field. “But don’t expect me to make any more stupid bets.”

“Why would I? You’ll just go back on them,” I sneered. Quinn stared at me through hate-filled eyes, but I stood my ground. “What? It wasn’t me who made an announcement on Twitter the next day. It was you.”

Quinn watched me for a long time before finally looking away and continuing forward. I saw a hint of embarrassment flash across her face before her wrath replaced it. I started after her and noticed that Tyler hadn’t taken my order to leave.

“Are you still here?” I asked.

He held an arm out in my path to stop me. “Zeke, this is a bad idea.”

“Move. I’m ending this.” I slapped his hand away. “Leave a football.”

Tyler let out a long, disgusted sigh, but eventually started to move. “I’m leaving the water, too. If one of you kills the other, I’m not responsible. Don’t stain my field.”

I ignored his comments. The only death here would be Quinn’s dreams. I wanted to crush them once and for all.

I walked over to our bench and started to take off my jersey and pads, leaving only a tank top and my field pants on. When I turned around, Quinn had similarly disrobed, leaving her in a pair of black form-fitting leggings and a teal and gray sports bra. I looked her up and down while she took her hair and knotted it up on top of her head. I’d really only seen her in football gear up to that point.

With her body more exposed, I could see how fit she was. I didn’t necessarily have a type of woman. I didn’t usually pay much attention, but the setting sun formed a gray halo around Quinn’s wide hips and slender waist leading up to her larger bust. I supposed she was probably the kind of woman men found attractive. I might, too, if she wasn’t deplorable.

She caught my gaze and shrugged her shoulders. “What?”

“If you think that getup is going to distract me, you’re wrong,” I replied.

She scoffed. “The only way I use my body to distract someone is when it’s putting their face in the turf. Don’t flatter yourself.” Definitely not attractive. “So, what magical drills and plays are we running, and exactly when were you planning on telling your team?”

“We’re starting with suicides,” I growled back.

She shrugged. “End zone to end zone?”

She didn’t wait for my response and made her way toward the left end zone. Was she Spartan? I wasn’t planning on going from end zone to end zone. Even in practice, I only made the team run half the field, but I was too embarrassed to admit it. She was already standing on one end zone line, looking at me like I’d suggested little more than going for a light jog. I wasn’t about to be one-upped, so I walked and joined her on the end zone line.

“Fives or tens?” she asked.

It took everything in me not to show my surprise at the question. Suicides were a drill that involved starting in one place, running to a predetermined location, tapping the floor at that location, and then running back to the starting point and tapping it. When you repeated the cycle you went to a second, further point and repeated the process, increasing the distance interval by interval until you’d run the entire allotted distance. A football field was a hundred yards and had yard lines every five yards and marked yard lines every ten yards. The up and down and back and forth of suicides was intense on the body but helped increase stamina and were particularly good for football players who were constantly being pulled in all directions on the field.

That said, fifty yards with each of the ten yard lines being the interval points was normally what I ran in practice. The fact that Quinn was willing to do the entire field, and at every five yards at that, was unbelievable. Was she just showing off, or could she actually do it?

“Fives,” I replied.

She faced the field and prepared to run. “Fives it is.”

Burning lungs and a throbbing headache were the cost of my arrogance, but it was worth it to see what Quinn was capable of. She was a speeding bullet down the field, and she didn’t have any trouble at all catching her momentum and reversing it when she touched her target lines and started back off toward the other end. Shame