Iced Out (Leighton U #1)(10)

Another rush of embarrassment floods me, even though I know Coach is on my side in this—and more importantly—I did nothing wrong. There’s absolutely no circumstance where I’d ever think of using any kind of drugs.

Oakley steps further into the room, and I feel his stare burning the side of my face like a white-hot brand. Penetrating, even. Like I’m as transparent as glass.

When I maintain my silence, keeping my stare directly on Coach—who is watching us like a hawk—Oakley lets out a bark of laughter.

“What’d you do this time?”

I try not to give him my attention or let him get under my skin, but the freedom in his laugh and taunting tone ignites a fuse inside me. Hard not to, when this jackass is being handed everything I’ve worked for, and for no real reason.

But I cave, letting my gaze collide with his, boring into each other. I know mine have to be showcasing every bit of rage and defeat coursing through my veins, because Oakley’s eyes narrow, like he’s reading the silence between us to figure out just why—

“You tested positive,” he says. Not a question; just an incredulous statement. When I don’t respond, a shit-eating grin slides across his face. “Damn, de Haas. I knew you were reckless, but I didn’t know you were stupid too.”

“Bite me,” I snap between clenched teeth.

“I’m good, thanks,” he retorts before letting out another laugh. “I just wanna know why. Because even you have to be smart enough to know PEDs shrink your dick.”

My lips curl up in what has to be a sneer. “It’s actually your balls that shrink, Reed, but regardless, your concern for what I’m packing is duly noted.”

Oakley goes to open his mouth again, a flare of red tinting his cheeks at my inadvertent comment about his sexuality. Which…I’ll admit, was tacky.

But it’s too late to take it back now.

“Can it. The both of you,” Coach bites out, for which I’m grateful.

This entire situation already has me on edge, and Oakley running his mouth like the jackass he is, antagonizing me for sport, will only make things worse. Which could lead me into even more trouble if I let my temper get the best of me.

Biting my tongue is the safest option, so I do just that. To the point of blood filling my mouth. And though it kills me, I don’t use the moment of silence granted by Coach to correct Oakley’s assumptions. He doesn’t need the specifics as it is.

Nor does he deserve them.

Coach’s eyes drift between us, studying and analyzing in a way that makes me feel almost naked. And again, transparent.

Guess that’s a Reed family trait.

“The two of you need to get it together. I haven’t said anything until now because I was hopeful that putting you on the same line this season would help you find some common ground. Apparently that’s not working, so I need the two of you to actively find a way to fix your shit. Am I clear?”

He doesn’t even have to leave a threat hanging over our heads like an executioner’s blade. Simply getting chewed out for our little spats is enough to make both of us straighten our spines and hear what he has to say.

“Crystal,” I murmur at the same time a quick “Yes, sir” comes from Oakley.

I fight the impulse to roll my eyes at him calling his own uncle sir, no doubt to garner more favor with him. Shit, I don’t think I’ve ever heard him refer to Coach as anything other than just that. Coach.

Damn suck-up.

“Are we done, then?” I ask, looking between the three coaches. When I get the nod, I make a move to get up, ready to get the hell out of here as quickly as possible.

“Okay, great. Well, I’m gonna go get dressed, and then—”

“You can’t suit up, kid,” he tells me, a look of remorse on his face. “You’ll have to watch from the stands. As a spectator.”

A poorly disguised laugh comes from Oakley, and I roll my lips inward before clamping my teeth around them to keep from screaming.

Because this day just gets better and better, right?





Four

Oakley

When I pull my car up outside the rental townhouse I share with a few of my friends, I can already tell I’m gonna find the place in its usual state of semi-controlled chaos when I walk through the door. Unfortunate for me, considering we lost tonight—again—and all I want to do is crawl under my covers and sulk.

Of course, a house of controlled chaos is exactly what happens when a group of very social student-athletes—not including myself in that category—decide to become roommates. It becomes a literal cluster-fuck when all the extra bodies of friends, girlfriends, and teammates come over and hang out at all hours of the day and night.

Not that I blame them, since we have a pretty sweet set up in the basement with a massive television, pool table, and insanely large sectional to make the perfect chill space. But it also drives me bonkers that the place is rarely quiet when I want it to be.

And right now, I sure as fuck want it to be.

When I open the door and faintly hear the surround sound from the basement, I know there’s some sort of…something happening down there. God only knows what, but I’m willing to bet my fucking life it has something to do with Holden—also known as roommate number one. After all, Leighton U’s star quarterback loves to have a good time.