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“I see.” Westscott drops his gaze to his desk, his mouth working from side to side like he’s got some sort of weird tic going on or something. “But Willow was there too.”
I’m quiet for so long that he lifts his head, pinning me with his stare. “She was.”
“Meaning, you spent time with her.”
The words explode from my mouth as if I have no control over them. “What does it matter if I was with her? Like I said, she was there, yes.”
He doesn’t even seem that pissed that I sort of yelled at him. I think he’s pleased that I confirmed she was there. “Are you two—seeing each other?”
“How is that any of your business?”
His expression smooths out completely. It’s downright creepy, how blank he looks. “It’s my business because you’re a student at this school, and a very important one at that. What you do and who you see matters to me. It’s my business because you’re my business, as is the football team.”
“If this has anything to do with football, I don’t see how.” I’m shaking my head, baffled by the balls on this guy. “I’m doing what I’m supposed to do, so don’t worry about me. In fact, the only one who’s keeping me from my team currently is you for calling this meeting. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go to weight training.”
“No.”
I’m already in front of his office door when his denial actually sinks in. My hand rests loosely on the handle as I slowly turn to face him once more. “What did you say?”
“I said no. I’m not excusing you. You’re going to listen to me.” He rises to his feet, bracing his hands on the desk. “Everything this school is doing right now hinges on your performance on the field. I’m not about to let my star player get distracted by a beautiful girl—a Lancaster—and mess up his chance at getting a full ride to a D1 school. This season is important not only to you, but to Lancaster Prep as well. Admissions are up thanks to you. Every teenage child from the wealthiest families across this country and the world want to play football—just like you. They want to be you. You’ve transformed the landscape of our athletic department, and I’ll be damned if some girl who readily spreads her legs for you is going to distract your ass from playing quality ball.”
Westscott is so worked up I swear to God he’s frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog. He’s even breathing hard, his hands splayed across the desk, his shoulders rigid with tension.
But I don’t even care. My mind is still stuck on what he said about Willow.
Some girl who readily spreads her legs for you.
“Take that back,” I say through clenched teeth. “What you just said about Willow. Take it back.”
He pushes away from the desk, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He’s a big man but I’m stronger and faster. I could totally take him. “I will not take back what I said because it’s the truth. I know for a fact you returned Sunday afternoon and had Willow Lancaster in the car with you. That Rowan and your own brother rode in a separate car—driven by the hired help from the Lancaster estate.”
I say nothing. The man is right. That’s exactly how it went down.
“I’ve seen it on camera—the four of you spilling out of your vehicle. You, Willow, Iris Lancaster and Brooks Crosby. You and Crosby had your hands all over those young ladies.” The disgust on Westscott’s face is obvious. “How could you jeopardize yourselves in such a way? Tossing aside valuable practice time to spend it with girls.”
He says girls like it’s a dirty word. “What I do in my free time is none of your business.”
“You’re wrong.” Westscott pounds his fist onto his desk, making the entire thing shake. “Everything you do is my business. My reputation is on the line, as is yours. I’d advise you to clean up your act and keep your dick out of Willow Lancaster until the season is over.”
God, the way this man is talking to me. Talking about Willow …
Fuck this.
“Or what?”
He goes still, staring at me. “Or what?”
“Yeah, or what? What are you going to do if I don’t stay away from her, huh?” I’m taunting him. Daring him. He’s going to make me do something I’ll probably regret, but I don’t give a damn.
Fuck this guy. He can’t do this. Boss me around and tell me who I can or cannot spend time with. Especially a girl who wouldn’t harm a fly, who would feel tremendous guilt if she knew she was called a distraction. Who’d probably try to turn me away if Westscott ever approached her—
Wait a second.
It all comes together like the last remaining pieces of a puzzle, locking into place. Anger makes my chest tight and I curl my hands into fists, wishing I could pound his face in.
“You spoke to her about me, didn’t you?”
There’s that blank expression again. “What are you talking about?”
