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“Well, you always were quite the comedian, Hamilton, and I’ve generally appreciated you for it. Not today though. Today, you’re insulting me to the point where it’s all I can do to refrain from knocking your idiot head clean off your dumbass shoulders.”
Newspaper girl shifted in place next to me. I didn’t dare look her way, but if I was a gambling man, I’d put money on the fact that she was trying—and failing—not to laugh. Fuck her.
“What on God’s green earth makes you think you have even the suggestion of a say in this matter? Huh?” He seemed to be actually waiting for my response, so I shrugged.
I knew it was one of those questions to which there were only wrong answers. Whatever I said was just going to piss him off more. At least while I was silent, I wasn’t digging myself further into a hole.
“On a normal day, this is not your decision. Not even close. But right after the stunt you pulled yesterday? Ha! You’re lucky you still have your tiny little balls attached to your body, and I didn’t drag them off you to make some trophy earrings for Mrs. Coach.” The hissing sound and slight movement I caught from the corner of my eye were testament to the fact that she definitely didn’t hide her laughter this time. I hadn’t even spoken to her properly, and already I hated everything about her.
“As it is, you stand here trying to tell me how it’s going to be after you ditched practice in favor of chasing tail, or because you can’t hold your liquor, or whatever crap.”
“I—”
He raised his hand like a traffic cop.
“Spare me the bullshit excuses. I didn’t believe the whole shin-splints thing yesterday, and having watched you train and play this morning, I sure as shit don’t believe it today. Remember kid, I’ve been coaching since you were nothing more than a wriggler in your dad’s dick.”
More snickering from my left.
“And before that, I was a young buck who thought he knew it all, as well. There’s not a lie you can come up with that I haven’t already told, or haven’t heard from every jerk-off who’s stood here in front of me like this. That being the case, allow me to show you the bargaining chips you have in this negotiation.” He rummaged around in his pocket, like he was looking for something, though I knew he wasn’t. “Well, shit, I didn’t find any, just this.” He withdrew his hand, and turned it toward me, middle finger extended, flipping me off. He was on a roll now, pacing the area like a raging bull.
“So if over the next few days, weeks, even, I ask you to do something—whether it’s to clean the bathrooms or lick the fucking boots clean—you do it. Got it?” I nodded. “I can’t hear you. I said. Got. It?”
“Yeah, I’ve got it.” I looked at the floor, to keep from doing or saying something I’d regret later.
“Yeah?”
“Yes. Coach.” Fuck him. I wasn’t sure which one of them I hated more at that point.
“That’s what I’m talking about. Now get out of my sight, you shriveled ball sack. I will liaise with Miss...”
Newspaper girl looked up, as though surprised to be addressed directly amid Coach’s tirade directed at me. “It’s Ms. actually. St George. Honey St George.” She blinked kind of myopically, although she didn’t wear glasses. Maybe she needed them, or maybe it was just an act. The innocent and harmless journalist on the college paper who turned out to be a kickass Lois Lane type investigative journalist, determined to right wrongs in Gotham. I was getting carried away, but stopped just shy of casting myself as Superman. I needed to get a fucking grip of myself.
“I’ll liaise with Ms. St George and you will comply with whatever we agree.”
I walked away, knowing I was being rude to both of them, but giving exactly zero fucks.
Back in my room, speaking of gripping myself, I had the anger-boner from hell, and decided that I would dedicate it to Ms. Honey St George. She was cute in a bookish and understated kind of way, but cute none the less. As I imagined her lips wrapped tight around my dick, I let myself get lost in the possibility of how that would feel, and came hard in no time.
When I was done, I cleaned myself up and decided to write the day off. It had gotten off to such a bad start, anyway, given that Coach had reamed me in front of everybody for missing the previous day’s practice, then made me run drills for the whole session while the rest of the team played. I hated when he did shit like that—I knew if I screwed up, I needed to be punished, just like anyone, but when he flogged me publicly, it really undermined my position as team captain. To add insult to injury, training finished with the news of my soon-to-be shadow. It wasn’t even nine o’clock, and already, I was done.
I pinged a message to our group chat.
ME: Today is DOA. I’m going to get white-boy-wasted. Who’s with me?
FOX: You on your period? Need us to come around with a quart of ice-cream and watch chick flicks?
ME: Yeah, okay, sounds good. Right after you suck my balls.
FOX: That can be arranged for a small fee.
I didn’t doubt it.
KANE: I’m just walking into a class. Rain check?”
ME: Yeah, if you want, but I’m getting blasted, no matter what. The only question now is whether alone or in company.
FOX: Seriously, did something happen?
