Call It a Favour (HIATUS)

06. Suspended

One week on the bench.

That was Corey's punishment for instigating a fight. Dylan wasn't punished. Of course, not. He played the victim card as well as he could've. He was always good at being the victim; he'd had plenty of practice.

Besides, Corey threw the first punch. Everyone at the party could testify to it.

It could've been worse. If Corey wasn't Corey Bishop, it would have been worse.

Dylan's face was bloody and bruised. He was lucky his nose wasn't broken, but his lip was busted, and he had a ring of blue and purple around a swollen eyelid.

Considering everything, one week on the bench was getting off light.

To Corey, however, this was the end of the world.

I sat at the edge of the field, watching as Corey kicked another ball through the goal posts.

He hadn't spoken at all since I arrived at his practice, too busy throwing his little temper tantrum. Honestly, I should have been a little more pissed. He wasn't playing his part very well. I expected at least a greeting—a nod of acknowledgement at the very least.

Maybe a peck on the cheek. I tried not to think about how the idea made me feel—equal parts disgusted and warm inside. Okay, maybe not entirely equal. A little too warm and fuzzy for my own liking.

At least all of his teammates knew about his punishment, which meant we could play it off as him being pissed about his suspension.

Except I didn't miss the way Dylan had been looking at me all through practice. Like he knew something. No. Like he was suspicious of something.

"Not taking it well, huh?" Wes said, falling to sit on the grass beside me. He took a long swig of his Gatorade and wiped the mixture of sweat and sports drink from his upper lip.

I barked out a laugh. "That's one way to put it. I don't know what the big deal is. It's only one week. One match. He could've been kicked off the team."

"Could he?" Wes challenged. "Do you think the coaches would've risked losing Corey over this?"

"Okay, maybe not, but he's still being a little dramatic, don't you think?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. A pause. The corner of his mouth lifted knowingly. "But then again, you probably know him a lot better than I do, right?"

My face warmed. I'd forgotten my role for a moment. What kind of girlfriend would be complaining about her boyfriend like this? I was supposed to be on his side.

I cleared my throat, glancing away—back towards Corey who continued to send never ending footballs through the goal posts.

"You're right," I said. "The games mean a lot to him."

"Uh huh," Wes said, his smirk not leaving his lips. "Because of the scouts..."

"Right, the scouts. Who attend the games."

He scrutinised me for a moment. I swallowed drily. One week into our fake relationship, and I was already messing it up for us.

"Tell me, when did you guys start dating?" Wes asked.

"Oh, not long ago," I said. "It's pretty new."

"How did it even happen?" he asked—the question I was dreading. "If you don't mind me asking, that is. I just never would have pictured it and Corey's been really tight lipped."

I opened my mouth, my braincells working overtime to think of a response. We should have planned for this. We should have added it to the contract.

"Are you grilling my girlfriend?" Corey's voice came before I could conjure a believable explanation.