TEASE ( A Stepbrother Romance ) By Caitlin Daire

8

Chapter Eight

Charlotte

Son of a bitch.

My head ached like hell, and I brought my hand up to rub where the football had just smacked against it. What the hell was Cade doing? We'd been relatively civil with each other for the past week or so-well, as civil as two people can be when they are barely communicating with each other-but now he'd gone and ditched a damn football right at my head like some kind of maniac.

"Are you okay, Charlotte?" Mom asked, her eyes wide with concern. After bouncing off my head, the ball had fallen to the ground next to me, and some student fans were fighting over it next to me, as if getting the ball was some sort of achievement.

"Um...yeah...god, that hurt, though," I replied, wincing as my fingers found the sorest part.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Cade lingering on the field, staring at me, and I was struck by an urge to jump over the little barrier and smack him in the head with the ball-see how he liked it.

I hadn't exactly been excited about coming to this game in the first place, because football had never really appealed to me very much, but by the end of the fourth quarter, I'd been hooked. The way things had turned around so fast, and then turned back again, had been gripping as hell, and I'd almost jumped up and cheered when Cade scored the winning touchdown.

But now....now all I wanted to do was score a touchdown on his face with my fists. Violent, perhaps, but I'd practically just been concussed with a ball, so I was allowed to be a bit mad.

"I'm going to go splash some water on my face. Might make me feel a bit better," I mumbled, standing up as I saw Cade jogging over to where we were sitting.

"Charlotte!"

I heard him calling out after me as I walked away, but I hastily slipped into the crowd and made my way to the nearest bathroom in the RMU stadium. The place was impressively large, and it was right next to the main campus, so I'd already taken a walk around here just two days ago to get my bearings and have a look around.

I'd finally started classes again after taking a few days to sort through all my stuff at the house, and while attending a new college and getting used to new professors and students was difficult, I was glad for the distraction. Whenever I'd been at home over the last week, I'd been mentally caught up with Cade and trying to figure out how to talk to him, and I kept chickening out. Whenever I pictured the conversation in my head, it all seemed so petty and lame. Hey, Cade, I was just wondering if we could chat about something that happened when we were thirteen.

Yeah, that sounded ridiculous.

As a result, every time I'd gotten near him this week, I'd opened my mouth to say something and then practically run away from him. He probably thought I was bat-shit insane at this point, and I couldn't blame him. Then again, he's the prick who just whacked a ball in your face, I reminded myself.

I splashed my face with some cold water from a basin in the bathroom, and then my phone buzzed in my bag. I unlocked it and frowned as I saw an unfamiliar number flashing across the screen, alerting me to a new text message.

Hey, it's Cade. Got your number from your Mom. Sorry about the ball. Didn't mean to hit you with it. I was actually hoping you'd catch it. We have this tradition thingy...I'll explain later. Anyway, hope you're feeling okay, and if you want, I'd like to show you around the team rooms and introduce you to everyone.

I sighed and stared at the screen, not knowing what to say in response. He'd apologized, which was decent of him, but my aching skull was putting me in a foul mood, and I really couldn't be bothered going back and talking to him or meeting any new people when I was in such a state. And what on earth was this tradition he'd mentioned? Was throwing things at unsuspecting girls really an RMU football tradition?

I shut my phone off and walked out of the bathroom and towards the main parking lot, intent on heading home so I could get some Tylenol and rest for a while. I'd driven here separately in my new car, because Mom and Keith were apparently going to some political mixer later, and I suddenly remembered that I'd promised to drive Evan home with me.

Turning around, I walked back the way I'd come so I could go and get him, and I heard a familiar voice coming from a vestibule as I passed what appeared to be a media conference room that wasn't currently in use.

"So the one we hired...Adams, was it? He's been briefed on what needs to be done?"

It was Keith, and I remembered that he'd left the bleachers just before the end of the game to take a phone call. I paused for a second as I registered his words, wondering who he'd been talking to for so long.

"Good. Yes, I'm just at RMU Stadium for Cade's game. Don't worry, there's no one around, they're all still down at the field," he continued. "Uh-huh. And you're getting him the burner? Good, good. All right, Greg, talk later."

I wrinkled my brows. I knew what a burner phone was. It was a prepaid phone that people could use and then easily dispose of without having their name tied to a phone contract. They were common amongst criminals-I knew that from watching reruns of The Wire whenever I was sick-but I also knew from political dramas that journalists could benefit from having a disposable number too, especially those with ties to politics who wanted inside scoops.

Mom had told me that Keith was considering a bid for presidency in the next election, so I guess it would make sense if he was lining up journalists to have in his pocket. Feeding reporters information about opponents via burner phones was an easy way to smear the opposition without making it look like the information came from their campaign, and I guess it didn't surprise me that Keith was just like almost every other politician out there, doing anything to win even if it was a little shady and unethical.

I shrugged and quietly walked on, figuring I needed to mind my own business. Right now, my only real pressing business was this damn splitting headache, and if I didn't get home and get some painkillers as soon as possible, I was sure my head would explode right off my shoulders.

That stupid damn ball.

As I recalled the pain and subsequent embarrassment of having the football hit me, I remembered the look on Cade's face just seconds before he threw it, when I'd still been looking at him. He'd flashed a heart-melting grin right at me in those few seconds, and my heart had fluttered like mad until I remembered who he was and abruptly turned away to distract myself in conversation with Evan.

No more. Cade could look at me however he wanted and say whatever he wanted from now on, and I wasn't going to respond at all. I wouldn't let myself be affected by him. I couldn't.

Not now, not ever again.