The Strings Attached

Chapter 6 - Jace

Jace

Is this girl fucking serious?

We met yesterday and she's looking at me like I have five heads. I don't know if she's fucking with me or what. And I don't mean to be cocky, but normally when I meet a girl, she remembers my name. Remembers my face. She becomes obsessed with me.

But Loni isn't even looking at me.

"I'm Jace," I say, trying not to let my tone sound too annoyed. It's dark out and the lighting on the path isn't too great so she probably couldn't make out my face too well. But still, what a blow to my ego. Two days in a row and this girl doesn't give a fuck about me.

I cringe a little as to how self-absorbed I sound. But I feel like I've lost my touch. When I had my status as "the school's player" it was like the girls fell at my feet, begging for a chance to breathe the same air. But now, now that I want to be a decent guy, it's like the women don't want me.

Okay, that's not exactly true. The girls still fall at my feet. But not her.

"The assistant volleyball coach," I add when finally Loni looks at me and raises her thick brown eyebrows.

"Oh, right," she says, nodding her head but with little enthusiasm or realization. "So are you with the team until Coach Carr can find an actual assistant?"

Ouch.

"No, I'm with the team for the whole season."

"Oh."

Oh? That's all I get? Oh?

Damn, this chick really needs some kind of attitude adjustment. I should just walk away, let her finish her jog, and enjoy the rest of her night in peace. But I can't. My legs won't move.

My eyes flash back down to her ripped top. "Are you sure you're okay?" I ask poking at her side. She lets out a small hiss and jerks away from me. The tip of my finger is dotted with blood that glistens under the light above us.

She pulls on her shirt and looks at the small amount of blood that's seeping through the fabric. "I'm fine. It's just a scratch." She shakes her head and lets the shirt fall back into place. "Um," she glances over her shoulder then back to me. "I'll see you at practice I guess."

She starts to jog away, but I instinctively grab her arm. Her head whips around and she looks at me with big green eyes. I can see the freckles dotting her face so perfectly under the orange lights.

I drop my hand. "If you want to come by the gym early tomorrow I can help you work on your serve a little bit before practice. I think you can put a little more power behind it."

"Excuse me?" Her brows furrow and her words are sharp.

"I didn't mean to offend you, but I think it can be better."

She scoffs and steps closer to me. "Okay, buddy, I don't know who the hell you think you are, but you are only on the team for a day and you have the audacity to question my skills? I've been playing this game for years. I don't need you talking to me about my game."

"Look, Loni—"

"Why are you even doing this? Is it to check out women? See how many girls on the team you can screw? I saw the way they all oogled at you as soon as you stepped foot onto the court. Does it make you feel good or something?"

"Okay, back up," I say, agitation creeping up my spine. "I'm sorry if I bruised your ego, but that's no reason to attack me. If you can't handle a little criticism, then that's your problem."

I can't help but smirk at her. The way her cheeks redden and her eyes narrow in on me like she can't wait to punch me. I also find it so comical that's she literally getting worked up over nothing. Short-tempered girls can be pretty sexy.

"Knock it off," she snarls. "You might be able to win over other girls with that smile, your charm. But not me."

"Is that so?"

She scoffs again and I fight the urge to grin bigger.

"You men are all the same." Her arms cross over her chest.

I cock my head to the side, and for a moment, I just look at her. Trying to figure her out. "Who hurt you?"

"What?" Her harsh expression falls and for a spilt second pain flickers in her eyes.

"Who hurt you?"

Frantically, she shakes her head. "I heard about you. Your reputation. How you've screwed and screwed over literally half of the girls on campus. Maybe the real question is who hurt you?"

I force a single laugh. "That answer is classified for the people who know how to take a little criticism." I take a step forward and her arms fall to her sides as I drop my head closer to hers. "Your overhand serve is crap. We will work on it tomorrow.'

Before she can attack me with more of her ridiculous accusations, I walk in the opposite direction. All the while I cannot shake the smirk from my expression. That was fun. Exhilarating. The fact that I got under her skin and made her go a little crazy is honestly hilarious to me. Especially because she looked so damn cute with flush on her cheeks.

Loni Davis is trouble. And I can't wait to find out what else makes her tick.