Warner’s eyes shifted between Jack and Kelly. His thin lips were pressed into a slight sneer as he ogled Kelly.
Jack stepped forward. “Nice to meet you.”
Warner tipped his head back slightly, and his small blue eyes stared down his angular nose at Jack. “Jack, huh?” He tried to crush Jack’s hand as he shook it.
Jack took an immediate dislike to the guy. “That’s me.” Jack tightened his grip.
Warner winced and let go.
Archer, the shortest of the group, just nodded casually at Jack. He appeared a little uninterested in the entire interaction.
Preston eyed Jack as he put his drink down on a table. “We’re having a little touch football game in a minute, in the field across the street. We’re one guy short. Care to help us out?”
“We were just about to take off,” Kelly said.
“No, you’re not,” Preston said. “You’re going out with Mom after.”
“It’s only light contact,” Warner said. “If you’re worried, we can go easy.”
Jack looked at Kelly. “Do you mind?”
Kelly gave him a you-don’t-know-what-you’re-getting-yourself-into look, but reluctantly she nodded.
“Then I’m up for a game,” Jack said.
Warner stepped on Archer’s foot.
“You can be on my side, Jack,” Archer offered quickly.
As the boys and Kelly walked down the driveway, a group of five of Kelly’s girlfriends followed behind. Jack could only catch bits and pieces of their conversation, but it all focused on one thing: him. They seemed to have come to a universal consensus that he was making a mistake by even playing the game.
When they reached the large grassy field across the street from her house, Jack handed Kelly his wallet and keys. “So, which one’s your old boyfriend?”
Kelly looked a little embarrassed. “Warner.”
Jack winked and then turned back to the field. In addition to the three guys he’d met, a few other boys had gathered—not all of them blond, Jack noted, but all carrying themselves with the same air of well-bred superiority. Archer waved him over. As Jack jogged across the grass, Preston and Warner exchanged a look that Jack was sure they didn’t think he picked up on.
“As you can see, it’s four on four. Light contact,” Archer explained, once they had broken into teams. “I’m usually quarterback, but if you want to…?” He held a hand out to Jack.
Jack shook his head. “No, thanks.”
They lined up, and for the next hour, Jack had to put up with being tackled, bashed, elbowed, and stepped on. Jack couldn’t fail to notice that his teammates were setting him up to take a beating—they stopped or even stepped aside when they should have blocked for him, leaving Jack an easy target. Warner hit the hardest. They tried to make their cheap shots look accidental, and of course they went out of their way to be polite in front of the genteel onlookers by helping Jack off the ground each time they knocked him down.
Getting sick of the harassment, Jack gave as good as he got. On one play Preston elbowed him in the face, and on the next play Jack “accidentally” kneed him in the thigh. Warner stomped on Jack’s ankle, and Jack just happened to hit him in the solar plexus.
A couple of plays later, Jack was just getting up from a hard tackle from Preston when Warner blindsided him and slammed into Jack’s back. Jack crashed to the dirt. Preston immediately offered him a hand up and a smug smile.
Jack’s hands balled into fists.
A shrill whistle cut through the air. Kelly ran forward, a bright-pink whistle between her teeth and a big glass of lemonade in her hand. “Refreshment timeout!” she called, bringing the glass to Jack.
“We’re in the middle of a game,” Preston whined.
“You can take a break.” Kelly took Jack by the hand and led him off the field. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Thanks for the drink. And the timeout.”
Kelly held up the whistle. “Cheerleading.” She flicked some dirt off Jack’s shoulder. “Sorry. Those guys are jerks. You can stop.”
Courtney ran up with her phone in her hand. “Move together.”
“Will you stop taking pictures?” Kelly said.
Courtney pouted. “I have nothing on my Facebook wall. You got all dressed up and you two are adorable.”
Kelly slid close to Jack.
Three photos later, Courtney winked and put her phone away in her back pocket with the fluid motion of a samurai sheathing his sword.
“Come on, Kelly!” Preston yelled. “Let him get back to the game.”
Jack finished the lemonade in one gulp. “Thank you.” As he handed Kelly the glass, he stared at Courtney. “Where are you posting that?”