“Is that really fucking necessary?” I snap, glaring at him in the mirror.
“What?” he mumbles. “I’m hungry.”
We’re still thirty minutes out from All Hallows, the school we’re playing tonight’s match at.
The school bus, and Nico and Toby, left almost forty-five minutes before us at the beginning of lunch, but someone, the one currently giving me the stink eye in the mirror, was busy banging some fucking slut in the humanities bathrooms and made us fucking late. Now, we’re stuck in Oxford traffic and risking missing kick-off.
“I swear to fuck, if we miss this I’m going to beat your arse into next week,” I warn.
“Pfft,” Alex scoffs, waving me off with his greasy fingers. “I’ve seen you fighting this week. There’s only one of us who’ll be on their arse.” He lifts a brow at me in amusement as Seb grunts, making me look forward to realise the traffic has moved and I haven’t.
Thanks to the fucking Reapers, that video went around Knight’s Ridge like wildfire, and when I turned up at school this morning, anyone who was brave enough had something to say about the fact that I almost had my arse handed to me by my wife.
The thought of them all watching her lay into me with that skintight outfit she was wearing and the angry, sexy look in her eyes made me damn right murderous, and it’s amazing that I managed to make it through to lunchtime only giving some stupid motherfucker in my economics class a black eye.
“Enough,” Seb snaps. “Just focus on the game. You can bicker like a couple of old women later. We want to beat these motherfuckers.”
“And we will. If we ever fucking get there,” I hiss.
“You need to get laid,” Alex helpfully adds from the back, having swallowed his mouthful of food.
“Bro, shut the fuck up,” Seb barks, also shooting him a death glare.
“What? It’s true. He’s a miserable motherfucker when he’s not seeing any action. You need to go and grovel your arse off to your wife and see if she’ll suck your—”
I slam my foot down on the brake so hard, I’m amazed the car behind doesn’t plough straight into the back of us.
“Don’t fucking talk about her like that,” I boom, my voice bouncing around the confines of the car, making it sound even more brutal. “She’s my fucking wife, not some whore you fuck in the bathroom.”
“Jeez, man. Sorry,” Alex mutters insincerely. “Didn’t realise it was such a touchy subject.”
“Then I suggest you get your fucking head out of your fucking arse and pay attention.” I glare at him, about two seconds from kicking him the fuck out of the car when the person behind slams their hand down on the horn.
“Watch your fucking mouth about my girl,” I hiss, turning back around to move forward again.
“I’m hardly going to disrespect her seriously. She’s my fucking friend, dickwad,” Alex mutters.
I’m about to turn back around to finally kick him out when Seb’s hand lands on my shoulder.
“She’ll come around, man. Just fucking breathe, yeah?”
Sucking in a deep breath, I turn back to the traffic and roll my shoulders, hoping to relieve some of the tension that’s locking my body up tight.
“Just focus on beating these arseholes. Enjoy the weekend. Give her some space and then start again Monday. Everything might be different by then.”
“Yeah, she might have run away again. Or worse,” I say quietly, so only he can hear me.
“She won’t. She’ll be there waiting for you,” he assures me.
“I can’t believe she’s not coming,” Alex says, bravely poking his head between our seats.
My grip on the wheel tightens once more to stop me from planting my elbow in his face and breaking his nose. It’s mostly only the thought of all the blood that stops me from doing it.
“I thought she’d want to come and hang with the girls at least.”
Silence ripples through the car as thankfully, the road opens up before us, allowing me to put my foot down and get to All Hallows’ stadium in the nick of time.
The three of us barrel into the locker rooms while Coach is giving everyone else a pep talk. If looks could kill, the one he gives us as we crash through everyone to get changed would put us six feet under in a heartbeat.
“I know there’s an unhealthy rivalry between us and them,” Coach continues, “but I do not expect any foul play on the field. Do you hear me?” he booms before a quiet round of agreement ripples through the team. “If I catch any of you doing things you shouldn’t be, you’ll be benched for the rest of your Knight’s Ridge career. Got it?”
“Got it, sir,” I shout, spurring the others on to agree with a little more seriousness.
After a little more encouragement, he finally lets us out and we jog down the tunnel toward All Hallows’ more than impressive stadium.
I hate to admit it, but it makes ours look like a cheap copy.
The crowd goes wild as we emerge. The majority of our sixth form bailed on school at the first opportunity this afternoon to be here for this duel, although we’re still well outnumbered by the home crowd who boo us with aggression.
“Thompson,” I spit, my lip curling back in disgust as I approach their captain.
His eyes hold mine as his teeth grind.
The last time I saw him, he was running away from Emmie like a pussy after his dumb-arse cousin had spiked her drink. Something I’m going to ensure he doesn’t forget any time soon.
Although, I quickly learn that he’s got his own agenda when he opens his mouth.
“How is Emmie? I’m looking forward to seeing her again,” he taunts. “We can trade stories about putting you on your arse.”
I suck in a deep breath through my nose as my fingers twitch, desperate to curl into fists ready to fly toward his face like I should have done that night.
“Aw, not embarrassed are you, Cirillo? It doesn’t make you any less of a man if your girl can put you down, much. I bet Daddy is mortified.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I growl, taking a step toward him.
I might be taller than him, but he’s got a few pounds on me and I really don’t fancy my chances right now.
“So where is she?” he asks, looking over my shoulder to search the crowd.
“She’s not here, so you can stop hunting. The thought of seeing you again put her off.”
A smirk curls at his lips.
“Sure. So it’s got nothing to do with trying to get away from you then?”
My lips part to come back at him, but Coach shouts from the sideline and someone throws the ball at my head. Alex probably, from the smug-as-fuck look on his face when I glance over.
“We fucking playing this game or what?” he barks.
“Yeah, we are,” I mutter, turning back to Thompson. “And we’re going to fucking ruin you.”
“Would like to see you try, Cirillo. When I find where you’re hiding your girl, I’ll make sure the only one she’s celebrating with tonight is me.”
My shoulders square as I take a step toward him, but a hand clamps down on my shoulder, pulling me back.
“Focus,” Seb snaps in my ear. “I’m not playing the rest of the fucking season without you, man.”