But by midmorning, after the fourth time he spun on his heel the moment we crossed paths, I was done.
I wassodone.
Mike and I hovered near the field entrance while the defense finished their drill rotation. He was catching his breath; I was catching my temper.
Dustin stood about twenty yards away, talking to the QB. Or pretending to talk — because every few seconds, he glanced over like he was checking my coordinates. Then, the moment I tooka step toward him, he pivoted and walked toward the opposite sideline.
“Oh for the love of—”
Mike glanced up nervously. “Everything okay?”
“No,” I said. “Not even a little.”
He blinked, unsure how to handle that. “Do you need water? Or, like... time alone? Because I’m not allowed to leave you alone.”
“I need answers,” I muttered. “And apparently track shoes.” Before my common sense could catch up, I started walking across the field straight toward Dustin. His back stiffened instantly. Perfect. Great, even. Let him stiffen.
“Hadley,” Mike whispered behind me, panicked. “Maybe don’t—”
Too late.
“Slater!” I called out, picking up speed. He pretended he didn’t hear me and turned his back on me. I tried again, louder. “Slater!”
Nothing. Not even a twitch.
Okay.
Okay.
He wanted to playthisgame?Fine.
I picked up the pace into a power walk. He finally looked over his shoulder — and swore under his breath, with a look on his face similar to that of an actor in a horror film who had just watched a monster crawl out of the floor.
He turned and started walking faster.
“Not today, buddy.” I sped up.
He sped up.
I jogged.
Hejogged.
By the time he hit the sideline, we were full-on sprinting like lunatics. Someone shouted something behind us, and halfthe field turned to watch me literally chasing the wide receiver across the field.
I caught him by the bottom of his jersey just as he reached the bench. He stopped, bracing his hands on his hips, his breathing slightly accelerated. I wasn’t out of breath because spite was a phenomenal cardio supplement.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked flatly.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I answered sweetly. “Trying to get you to acknowledge my existence?”
He ran a hand over his hair. “Peterson.”
“No,” I snapped. “You don’t get to ‘Peterson’ me. You’ve been avoiding me all morning.”
“I haven’t.”
“You left the weight room the second I walked in.”