The Enemy Lives Next Door (bxb)

Part One

Part One

•••

The sun blazes down, turning the track field into a shimmering sea of heat. He jogs past, sweat gleaming on his tanned skin, every stride accentuated by the tight fit of his sports shorts and the tank top clinging to his chiseled abs.

"Heads up!"

Before I can react, a football smacks my nose with a sickening thud, sending me crashing onto the freshly cut grass. Time seems to freeze as a metallic tang floods my mouth. My initial thought? A dark, vengeful desire.

I open my eyes slowly, the world a hazy blur. Above me, the sun casts a halo around the quarterback's head, obscuring his smug face.

"Shit! You broke his nose, dude," a voice cuts through, and I see a circle of football players looming over me. Is this some kind of twisted heaven?

"Hey bro," my brother says, slapping my thigh. I shoot him a pained glare. "You alright? That blow was pretty hard."

I try to nod, but pain shoots through my head.

"You're in deep shit, Liam!"

"Shut up!" My brother's voice cuts through, silencing everyone. His best friend looms over me, dark hair falling into his eyes, concern flashing in his umber gaze. "He's fine! Totally okay, right, Dale?"

All eyes turn to me, waiting. The surreal scene feels like a bad dream. I lie there, glaring up at the quarterback. Gingerly, I touch my nose with my index finger, wincing at the sharp pain.

"What's your name?" Tyson asks, his hand waving in front of my face. "And how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Dale. You moron. You just said my name," I spit, pushing his hand away as I sit up gingerly. "You're holding up four fingers."

Tyson sighs and smiles. "He's back to normal. Can we get back to practice now?"

Uncaring jocks. They're exactly why I sometimes wish for a bit of culinary sabotage.

"Are you alright?" Liam asks again, his umber eyes still flashing concern. It takes every ounce of restraint not to lash out.

He has to be doing this on purpose—a person I despise. Clearly, he's out to harm me with a football to build his army of die-hard fans.

"What do you think?" I snap. "My nose is bleeding. Clearly, I'm doing fantastic."

Liam rolls his eyes and crouches beside me. "I didn't see you, man. Who says you have to walk where we're practicing?"

I run a hand through my hair, irritated. The jocks have returned to their drills, and being alone with Liam grates on my nerves. "Why are you talking to me? We don't do this. It messes with my sanity."

"You're my friend's brother," he says as if that's a universal explanation. "It's normal to feel like this around me. I have that effect on people."

Glaring at him, I say, "just seeing you makes me want to rip out your cold heart and serve it up with meatballs."

He flinches and shakes his head. "Yikes. That's aggressive. Maybe lay off the zombie movies. They're not good for your health."