Scoring Wilder(16)

"Kinsley, I never meant to hurt you. That girl, Jenny, means nothing to me. We were friends from camp and she'd been texting me, wanting to hangout. I kept brushing her off, but then she showed up at my apartment."

I wanted to interrupt him and ask how she even knew where his apartment was, but there was no point.

"I let her inside and she practically threw herself on me. She'd heard I made the LA Stars team and I think she wanted to say that she'd hooked up with a professional soccer player. You and I hadn't been doing much of anything lately because we were busy with tryouts, and I just wasn't thinking. I made a huge mistake."

What a lame excuse. The lamest f*cking excuse I’ve ever heard.

"So whenever you're horny, you'll accept the first girl that throws herself at you? You're just an * that wanted to get laid."

"I don't love her, Kinsley. It meant nothing."

I nodded, feeling tears burning the side of eyes. I did NOT want to cry in front of Josh. He didn't deserve the satisfaction. He'd been one of my best friends throughout high school. When Trey had cheated on me, Josh had been there for me, telling me what an * Trey had been. And when we finally got together almost a year later, he swore to protect my heart. Bullshit. All of it.

"Okay," I finally answered when he wouldn't stop staring at me.

He expected me to fight him on it, but I didn't have any fight left in me for guys like Josh. Like Trey. Hell, even Liam was probably no better than the rest.

"Okay?" he asked.

I stood up off the porch and took a deep breath. "You said what you needed to say, Josh. We're still not getting back together."

"Kinsley, please don't end this yet. Please think about it. I'd be a f*cking fool if I let you go. Do you realize that?"

I wanted to clarify that he wasn't letting me go, I left, but I held my tongue for fear that the waterworks would start soon.

"I'll see you at the party on Saturday, Josh. We can be friends, okay?" I didn't wait for him to answer; I spun around and ran into the house.

A few sophomores that were huddled at the door tried to act as if they were having a conversation, but all of their sentences were jumbled together.

"Oh yeah, the weather— practice sucked— did you see the last episode of Vampire Diaries?"

I didn't stop to tell them to mind their own business; I ran straight upstairs and fell back on my bed. A few seconds later, there was a light tapping on my door.

"Kinsley?" Becca asked barely above a whisper, like she feared that I would break if she spoke too loudly.

"Will you get your ass in here and grab Emily? I'm not about to wallow by myself."

"Sure thing, punk. PS. If you want me to pretend I didn't hear anything so you can vent, I will."

I propped my head up and smiled. Becca understood me better than most people and she'd only known me for five days.

"Thanks, but I'm assuming you had your ear pressed against the window the whole time."

She scoffed. "I'm not an amateur. I cracked it open a little bit." She winked and then turned to go find Emily.

…



The next day at practice, I was stretching off to the side of the field when Liam broke off from talking to Coach Davis and started to make his way over to me. I dropped my head quickly, pretending to be enthralled in my stretches.

“Your drills are looking better,” he complimented as he reached me. I looked up just as he crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared off toward the rest of the team.

“Thanks. I’m actually a decent soccer player when my body isn’t running on jell-o shots and I’m not dressed in a leotard,” I joked, reaching to stretch my other leg.

He smiled and shifted his attention toward me, but he had to narrow his eyes to see me through the sunlight.

“Are you planning on training for the Olympic tryouts?” he asked with a hopeful tone.

“That’s the plan,” I replied. “I chose ULA because of Coach Davis.”

“That was a smart move. The way she runs her practices will be similar to tryouts, I’m sure.”

I nodded, unsure of where our conversation would lead.

“Your cheek healed up nicely,” he said with a private smile.

I couldn’t help but smile back at him as I reached up to feel where the remnants of my bruise were hidden beneath a thin layer of sweat.

We stood there for a moment before I asked a question that had troubled me for the past few days.

“So are you really as wild as the tabloids make you out to be?”

He didn’t answer right away. He rubbed his chin and cast his gaze to the ground, as if scrolling through past memories. “Can I say I’m a reformed bad boy without sounding like a tool?” He laughed. “I started playing professional soccer when I was twenty and I went a little… wild. When I had a few endorsement deals threaten to cut me loose, I realized I had to change my game plan.”

“When was this?”

“Three months ago,” he answered as he traced a patch of grass with his cleat. “I’m still kissing ass to some of my endorsers.”

“Would they really drop you because of your personal life?”

He furrowed his brow before responding. “When Tiger Woods had that affair, he was dropped by most of his sponsors. They don’t want scandals associated with their brands.”