BOY KING (CFTM Prequel)

CHAPTER 20 *NEW*

She blushes. Pink creeps up her cheeks and highlights her freckles. I'm silently terrified this whole situation will backfire, but it's worth a shot. She's cute. I like her smile. And the way her autumn red curls frame her heart-shaped face. And that's all l have to like. Just a couple details. A couple things that won't remind me of Lacey or Trish or anyone.

I need a stranger right now. I need this girl to get lost with me about as badly as I need more alcohol to stop caring about the bad decisions I'm going to make. I just hope she goes for it.

I need her to.

Popcorn takes a minute to process what I'm saying and then hands me a cup of ice without her number anywhere in sight.

"Sorry, if I could give you my number, I would—"

"Then you should."

"—but I have a boyfriend."

"That never stopped anybody before."

That didn't stop you.

"Well, I'm not like everybody. Have a goodnight."

I take the cup, mumble a "thank you", and then bolt away from the kiosk and toward the parking lot trying not to come off as humiliated as I feel.

Luckily, the crowd leaving the stadium is too wasted to notice me falling apart. The place is still teeming with people hanging around their cars sipping on "water bottles" filled with exactly the kind of solution I'm stupidly desperate for. I drop any hope of saving face and walk over to a wolf pack of Cardinal guys who look about as wasted as I wanna be.

There's about six of them. Probably sophomores or juniors at most. All of them proudly wearing their Cardinal football tees. Lame. These dudes are cross-town versions of Josh and Marcus's brainless sports "buddies", but I'm desperate. And if there's one thing I know about stupid jocks, it's that they're experts in getting stupid drunk.

I brush the grass and dirt off my clothes, straighten up, and saunter over like I'm older and know exactly what I'm doing.

One of the shorter, scrappier guys of the group approaches me and puts his hand out to stop me from going any further.

"Do we know you?" He asks, and even though he's nearly a head smaller than me, the dude's crazy intimidating. He's built like a pit bull, all muscle, no-nonsense. He could probably snap me in half if he wanted to, but I'm not looking for another fight. If I don't wanna leave on a stretcher, I'll keep things honest—at least enough to get what I need.

"You probably should. I'm not an easy face to forget. You own a television don't you?"

He scoffs and locks his beer-glazed blue eyes on mine.

"Yeah, but I can't say I've seen you anywhere, pretty boy."

"Then you're not looking hard enough. My dad got Mission Bay's star QB kicked off the team—which is why you landed that big time win tonight. Look it up. Malcolm King's all over the news," I say, trying my best not to slur.

Shorty and his friends break off into a series of whispers, whip out their phones, and start tapping away at Google to see if I'm telling the truth. The group calls Shorty over and directs his attention down to their screens. 

I stand there, trying to play it cool while my stomach turns itself inside out over the fact that I went as far as name dropping my father just to get booze. Before regret pushes me to walk away from the situation, Shorty comes back looking a hell of a lot less tough than he was seconds before.

"I'm impressed, King. Looks like you weren't full of it after all."

"I do my best."

"What do you want from us that you can't get from your little Warrior friends?"