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2

*Blake*

As I speed away from campus, I can still feel anger coursing through my veins in annoyance. 

Why do people think they can just touch other people's stuff for no reason? What if she scratched my bike or something? 

I already want to knock that kid Lucas' teeth out, him dropping passes every other practice like his hands are made of butter or some shit.

A pair of unmistakable gray eyes flash in my vision suddenly, filling my head up with thoughts of them. I do my best to push them away and focus on the road ahead of me instead. I wipe my sweaty hands off my pants as I accelerate my engine.

I pull into my off-campus house, parking my motorcycle carefully before taking the key out. My helmet comes off my head with ease and I fluff out my hair. 

Making my way up the steps, I walk into my empty house and flick on all the lights as I enter. When I put down my football bag, relief instantly spreads through my back.

My muscles are aching from the beginning of the season, Coach Wilson had us in the weight room all morning. 

I decide to hop in the shower, hoping that some of my tension can be rinsed away.

My eyes suddenly burn with pain and heaviness from the last three days, only getting a couple of hours of sleep over the long period. Getting frustrated at the burning feeling I know all too well, I rub my eyes a bit too aggressively, creating red marks around them now to match my dark purple bags.

Football season always makes my lack of sleep even worse, if that's possible. The pressure of the season coupled with my "issues" don't mix well. I don't know how I manage to throw a football accurately with the amount of sleep I get, but I haven't heard any complaints yet.

I step out of the shower after feeling like I've been in there for hours. I tiredly get myself dressed and pull on my favorite black Champion hoodie before grabbing my phone off my nightstand.

Now about around 8 pm, I decide to text Noah and see what he's up to. 

Noah's one of the only people in my life I don't really get sick of after a while. I've known him since I was 16, we went to the same high school and both of us were instant stars on the football team there.

I guess since he's known me for so long and has never tried to fix me or complained that much about my attitude, we get along. 

He knows the type of person I am and sees no reason to change that. I was even more of an asshole when we first met, way worse than I am now if that's even possible. He was able to help me a little bit though, he is one of the only people in my life who haven't left yet.  

"Hey man, wanna come over? Knock a few back?" I text him, grabbing the TV remote to put something on in the meantime.

Noah, 8:09 pm - Be there in 10, Jameson or Jack Daniels?

I chuckle to myself, glad that he knows me so well.

Well, sort of. 

He knows the type of liquor I drink and that's where I like to draw the line on personal information.

"Jameson. Thanks,"  I text back before sticking my phone in my pocket. Twiddling my thumbs together, I look up at the chandelier hanging above my living room, spreading pockets of bright light to every other room. 

It's one of those massive white and gold ones that belongs in an old lady's dining room or something. Noah always makes fun of me for it, but I like it. It was the first purchase I made after I bought this house.