Cheap Shots

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1.

            “I can’t believe it.” I repeated for what seemed to be the hundredth time in the past few minutes. “Justin,” I whined to the trainer, “You can’t actually be serious!”

            He shook his head and rolled his eyes annoyed at me. “It’s your own fault, Orion. Anyway, I can’t bypass the doctors note, you’re not cleared to play yet.”

            “But playoffs is in two weeks! I need to be ready!” I protested, waving my hands to try and get my point across.

            Smiling sadly, he wrapped the clear saran wrap around my foot to keep the ice on it. “Sorry, but you’re still out until your doctor says otherwise.”

            I rolled my eyes and sat back against the table. This is bullshit. Fuck my doctor, he doesn’t know anything, I can play if my damn ankle feels okay.

            “I’ve got to go to the women’s soccer game and over to the football practice, be back in an hour. Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off for that ice.”

            “Can I leave?” I asked.

            “No.” He said, “Your coach wants you here the whole time.”

            I groaned and slammed my head against the wooden door a couple times, silently cursing out my coach for her asinine rules. She doesn’t realize that just because I’m sitting in the trainer’s office, it’s not like my ankle will magically heal within the hour. I sprained it pretty badly.

            “Great,” another male voice echoed off the walls of the office.

            I looked up to see none other than Beckett Manno, the asshole who happened to be one of the most annoying people on the face of the Earth.

            Groaning, I slapped the palm of my hand to my forehead. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

            I expected him to smirk, or even torment me a little, but he surprisingly just walked over to the ice cooler and filled a bag up, walking slowly to the trainer’s bed across from mine.

            “Can you leave?” I snapped at him once he sat down.

            He didn’t acknowledge me, just placed the pre-made bag of ice on his hand and closed his bright blue eyes, leaning against the wall.

            “Why can’t you?” He responded coolly.

            “’Cause I’m not allowed,” I mumbled quietly, a pissed off tone to my voice.

            He snapped open an eye. “Feisty today, aren’t you?”

            “Piss off.”

            “Answer’s my question.” He said, closing his eye again.

            I stared at him in annoyance. It annoyed me that his hair was black and wavy, and it ignored me even more that his eyes were a darker shade of mine, but what ticked me off the most was the fact that he actually wasn’t too bad on the eyes, but the fact that I hated him took away from my liking to him immensely.

            “Are you done staring at me? I’d like to ice my thumb in peace.” So it was his thumb that he hurt. Sucks to suck.

            I snorted. “I was just staring at the giant zit that’s forming on your nose.”

            Again, his blue eyes opened and pierced mine. “I don’t have a zit.” He looked around the room hastily, most likely trying to find a mirror. “Right?”