I Hate Football Players 3 | 18+

Chapter 97: Jake

Fuck, I hate losing.

I ran my tongue gently over my lips like the movement removed the horrible taste of defeat from my mouth. The same feeling sank a weight in my stomach, twitched my fingers with irritation, and clenched my jaw tightly shut.

On paper, tonight's game was another solid, stellar performance for me. Our offense clicked efficiently, ate up the game clock with the defense pressed deep, my throws were accurate, and playcalls executed perfectly en pointe.

Tonight, I wasn't the USC player that the Trojans' fanbase ripped apart and blamed for the loss. Unfortunately, that fell on our kicker London Drake. In a game of inches, his first missed field goal of the season also cost us our first loss. Tonight's game was huge, against a PAC-12 rival that, in every USC player, coach, and fan's mind at least, wasn't as good of a team.

Better team aside, after sixty minutes and one bounce in their direction, the Huskies handed us our first bitter-as-fuck loss of the season. While I knew we wouldn't have won every game this season, tonight's loss stung...

Because it was personal.

The smirk and cocky glow that practically radiated from Logan across the dinner table from me, his arm slung over the back of Ellie's chair, felt like salt poured into an open wound.

Of course he's happy. They won and he's back with Ellie.

If I was back in Los Angeles then, like after any loss, I would've licked my wounds and buried myself in between some desperately willing girl's open legs while she almost orgasmed just from how our eyes met. Once her back hit my bed, she screamed out my name, and came undone while she watched as Jake Harrison, starting quarterback for USC, used her body for my own selfish pleasure.

Only difference with wins is how girls treat like my dick like it's the fucking Heisman trophy.

While I was no stranger to casual sex, beyond the irritation that I got tested weekly even though I always used condoms, a small part of my subconscious admitted that a random hookup every weekend lacked the same bite of excitement that some of my past relationships had held.

One in particular, who'd burn me alive if I called what we had a relationship.

Once I saw Harper before the ESPN interview at Husky Stadium, I knew from just one look in her direction, the flash within her light blue eyes, slight smirk on those sinfully full lips, one insult that shamefully turned me on more than any gasped recognition and I reverted right back to the high school version of myself. Both my brain and hands went on autopilot mode.

After Harper and I fucked behind Ellie's back our senior year of high school, we had genuinely parted on good terms. We kept in touch as casually as any of our conversations went. While Mom, Dad, and I waited at the bar for Ellie and Logan, I flipped through the latest example that still sat at the top of my text history.

me: Hey firecracker.

HER: fuck you.

A low chuckle escaped me at that response.

Every time.

me: If that's what you want, I'll change my next flight and get a layover.
me: Because we both know that's what you want, me laying over you.

A grin pulled across my mouth as Harper's typically irritated look, the spark of defiance and challenge in her eyes flashed through my mind. As usual, her insults never fell short.

HER: What I want is silence.
HER: What I want is your dick to grow gangrene and fall off.

"Don't lie," I murmured down at my phone screen.