Savage Me

Chapter 2: Fighter

Well, shit.

I remembered Oz, one of my best and oldest friends (one of the troublemakers I met at a high school party when I was twelve), mentioning it once last summer.

He told me in passing that Scout Crimson – his former nemesis turned friend – was going to attend Rutgers like me. I just didn't give enough shit back then because I was so sure that there was no way Scout and I would run into each other. I mean, there were a bunch of campuses in Rutgers. What were the fucking odds?

I guess that was a mistake on my part.

"How're the guys?" asked Scout.

My high school friends, we liked to call each other 'the crew,' consisted of four guys and me. I didn't have much girlfriends because they caused way too much drama.

And aside from my brother being some kinda football legend at school, my two best friends, Oz and Alfie, also made the team in our freshman year. So I was mostly surrounded by the football team.

I mean, they always think with their dicks but at least they didn't do bullshit.

"Still better than you," I answered Scout, with a sweet smile.

He grinned. "Depends on your definition of 'better.'"

"In every sense of the word."

"I might surprise you."

"Don't hold your breath."

"I won't." He shrugged. "I'll just prove you wrong."

I wasn't really sure why I hated Scout Crimson so fucking much. His self-righteousness? His goody-two-shoes bullshit? Or maybe it was the fact that he was too fucking nice for his own good? In fact, all that holiness led him to his friends betraying him – his naivety cost him almost everything back in high school.

He used to be the crew's enemy. To put it simply, he was the Clark Kent to our Lex Luthor ways. That was . . . until fucking Oz declared 'permanent truce' halfway our senior year. Gods only knows what would happen if anyone went against what Oz wanted.

Permanent truce, my ass. Still don't like this guy.

"You guys gonna start playing anytime soon?" exclaimed Pike. "I'm pretty close to dozing off."

I didn't mention the fact that Scout was a freshman, too. Why was he allowed to stay here?

First, I wasn't a whiner. Second, it was no brainer. Word must've gotten around that he was the newest recruit to Rutger's basketball team, the Scarlet Knights. Being an athlete gave you a free pass to almost anything in this country. Either you accept it, or you bitch about it.

"Bring it on, Crimson," I said.

The corner of his lips turned up, before lifting the tiny white ball and throwing it straight into the middle cup on my end. I never watched him play live, but I've heard about it.

Legend says, he never misses a shot.

Fuck.

"Pick up the cup, Anderson."

Resisting the urge to glare at him, I grabbed the cup, removed the ball, and drank it empty. I looked at him with an indifferent face before shooting the ball into his cup. I smirked, while he only smiled. He picked up the cup and raised it to me before drinking.

The game went on like that. The thing was, I never got drunk anymore – not since I was sixteen when I learned how to hold my liquor. I thought I had that to my advantage against Scout, that he would get drunk by his fifth cup and I'd win. Man, was I wrong. Where the hell did he even learn to drink like this?