Free Game On by Michelle Smith Page A

of Bri’s car, with the way he’s laughing at Randy like there isn’t a damn thing wrong with what he’s doing, with the fact that he just can’t take a freakin’ no for an answer…
    Screw it. I’m goin’ in.
    Shoving my hands into my pockets, I tell Kellen, “I’m just gonna talk to him.”
    Before he can argue, I stride toward Bri’s car, which is parked beneath one of the two streetlamps out here. Matt catches my eye, and that stupid-ass smirk grows as he crosses his arms. “Perry! You have
got
to stop following me, man. How’s it goin’?”
    Cocky bastard.
I flash a smirk of my own. “Goin’ really well. Except for the whole watching you stalk my neighbor thing. That could be better.”
    He tilts his head to the side. “You know, I wouldn’t call it stalking—more like getting my girlfriend back. Nice try to start shit, though.”
    â€œLast I heard, the girl was ready to walk three miles if it meant getting away from you.”
    Someone snickers behind me. I glance over my shoulder. Half a dozen other guys from the team are crowded around, eating this shit up like vultures.
    Witnesses are not awesome. Witnesses twist words and spread them like their lives depend on it.
    Matt sighs dramatically. “All right, you caught me, bro.”
    My throat tightens as I look back to him. “Don’t call me bro.”
    â€œBri hates me,” he keeps on. “Which is why I’m sitting here until she’s done eating. All I want to do is talk. Didn’t realize that was a crime.”
    â€œReally?” I say. “That’s really a thing you’re going to do? Because sitting on her car in a dark parking lot isn’t creepy at all.”
    â€œHe’s got a point,” Blake chimes in, stepping to my side. “I’d be pretty damn creeped out if my ex was waiting on the hood of my truck.”
    â€œThank you,” I say. “Thank God someone out here has some sense.”
    Matt stands and steps toward me. Flashbacks from last night play in my head, from when we were standing in almost this exact same spot, fighting about the exact same girl. Why do I keep getting into these messes, damn it?
    â€œYou do
not
know when to quit,” he says. “Why’ve you been so stuck up Bri’s ass lately? You’ve known the girl forever, but now that we’re on a break—”
    â€œBroken up,” I correct him. “I was standing right here when she dumped you, so don’t try to bullshit me.”
    â€œâ€”you’re trying to be some weird-ass white knight,” he finishes. “It’s pathetic, actually.”
    I shrug. “I’m just sayin’, there are plenty of girls in this town. Why chase one who doesn’t want anything to do with you?”
    â€œWhat the heck is going on?”
    Matt and I both whip our heads to the side. Bri and her friend Becca are standing at the edge of our audience, dressed in their soccer practice sweats, each holding a Styrofoam cup. Bri locks eyes with me, confusion all over her face. I wince. How do I explain that I’m kind-of-sort-of trying to help her?
    â€œAnd here we have it,” Matt says. My attention snaps back to him. “You
do
have a thing for the neighbor girl. That is really damn cute, Perry.”
    He laughs, and God help me, my muscles are tenser than a stretched rubber band.
Breathe through it. Breathe.
My heart slams against my chest as he steps closer. Closer. Closer.
    All I hear is the blood in my ears. It’s rushing, and it’s thumping, and it’s pounding as I zero in on him like a hawk. Old Eric would’ve shoved him already. Knocked him to the pavement. Beat him ’til his face looked like ground round.
    But I can’t be Old Eric. Old Eric is headline worthy. I ball my fists so tightly that my nails dig into my skin, and focus on that
.
    Your team is family. You can’t