Dating Mr. Arrogant

chapter 37 - it's delusion

ACE

"Elle's gonna look good on her hands and knees for me," Justin mutters past me.

He's not just throwing my name around—Elle's just as much a target as I am. And that tells me he doesn't care about lines or it being a violation, dragging someone precious to me when she has nothing to do with our mess.

My fist clenches at my side, veins tight, as the last of my self-control slips. The clamor of the crowd fades into a dull murmur. Even the sharp scent of grass and sweat disappears.

Before I can stop myself, I turn, grab a fistful of his shirt, and yank him forward. My fist drives into his face like it was made for it. It's satisfying, even as I realize how irrational this is.

Justin stumbles back, clutching his jaw, but that self-satisfied, I-won smirk spreading across his face only tells me one thing. He wanted this... baited me. He knows what he's doing. The bastard couldn't get what he wanted through rumors, so he's making sure I snap. Right here. In front of everyone.

Too many eyes. Too many people are ready to judge the mistake I made. They'll say I'm not fit to lead, I'm not worthy of the team, and I'm not who people thought I was.

What kind of captain punches a friend and teammate in front of the whole school?

How can he be so selfish?

Cameras roll like sideline reporters, but screw that. I can't let this go. I've always kept my temper under control, but all I can think about is making him regret dragging my girl into this.

"Have you always been this jealous little bitch?" I spit.

Justin's smirk falters for a second before his fist comes up faster than I expect, catching the corner of my mouth. I feel the sting of the punch before the metallic tang fills my mouth. I run my tongue over the cut, but I don't bother wiping it away as I stare him down.

He steps close enough to count the veins in his neck, his breath hot and ragged. He glares at me with a hatred I've never fully recognized until now. Maybe even envy. We're chest to chest, the anger hanging between us.

"Who said anything about being jealous? Get off your fucking high horse, Daniels." He hisses, his voice low and seething. "I still don't get why anyone likes you."

It shouldn't sting more than the punch, but it does. Like we've never been friends. Like none of it had ever been real. And the memories flash through my mind. We were practically brothers who used to do everything together.

Deep down, past the rage and the rush, I can't shake the thought: Where did it all go wrong? How'd we go from laughing about every stupid thing to standing on opposite sides of the field?

I watch the sneer twisting on his lips as our coaches and teammates shove between us, stopping the fight before anything else happens.

I might have thrown another punch if it hadn't dawned on me just how out of control this whole thing had gotten. And suddenly I feel defeated and confused. It's like I'm back to square one and have no fucking idea what Justin is talking about.

He looks at me like I'm the scum of the earth.

Maybe I am.

And for what? Because he couldn't stand being in my shadow? Because he hated that people looked at me first?

But what makes him any better?

I glance around. The field seems too quiet besides the murmurs of the stadium. My teammates' faces say it all. Disappointment. Some press their lips into tight, grim lines. The worst are the ones who look completely drained—shoulders slumped as if they've already accepted the loss.