Page 30 of The Score We Never Settled

“You’re not datin’, Layla Melrose,” I grind out, holding his stare because I’m not fucking around when I say this.

I will kill him.

“You’re not gonna waste your time on that,” he kicks back, clearly not heeding my words. “She’s not your type.”

“She’s not yours either.”

He smiles, and it’s this shitty lift of his lips that hints his intentions are exactly what I thought them to be in the first place.

He just wants to fuck and have a taste before he dumps her like he’s done with every other girl he’s been with.

“I think she’s perfect,” he divulges, causing me to inch closer. “Innocent, pretty, and I bet she tastes like innocence. By the time I teach her everything I know, she’ll be suckin’ my cock every day except the Lord’s day.”

I’m technically not even close to him yet when I swing, missing him completely when I make up for the rest of the distance and try again.

This time, I connect, slamming into his jaw, then following up with a blow to his gut, sending him keeling over, which does him no good because my knee comes up next.

Gushing blood is the only thing I remember, all over his fingers when he tries to stand up straight, but that red color is all I’m seeing besides the next place I can land a jab.

I think I get either two or three more hits in before arms wrap around my chest from behind, encasing my arms and forcing them into my sides, while a bunch of chaos ensues around us.

I even remember swinging a leg up to try to hit him again but miss because I’m dragged away from being able to do any more damage.

“Coach is gonna be pissed, Briggs,” I hear Walker say. “We need you at the next game, man.”

I don’t give a shit what Coach gets mad about. Cruz isn’t going to share the same locker room and, in the same breath, say that he’s going to fuck my girl.

I’ll kill him.

And I’ll do it with a smile.

8

BRIGGS

We skipthe beer because I’m not in the mood to drink, and I sure as hell don’t need alcohol with the way my adrenaline is raging inside my body to fight.

He won’t stop.

I know it’s to piss me off and remind me that he’s had Layla in his arms, he’s tasted her lips, and he’s tried to take her from me several times before. However, it’s the fact that he’s done all these things that really boils my blood in my veins.

“Briggs,” I hear Layla drawl as I tightly hold on to her hand, dragging her through the party and by every curious eye we pass. “Where are we going?”

Away.

Unless she wants me to put Cruz on life support next, she’d better distract me or I’m going to do things I’m not going to regret but will put assault charges on my name.

I don’t answer her when we approach the thick set of woods. We don’t necessarily need to be extra right now and hide away because we’re far enough from the crowd to talk, but I want to touch.

I want to kiss and lick and do everything I’m able to because Layla is my kryptonite. She’s my damn future and happiness,and no one is going to videotape it with their phones and send it in to the next media station for some coin or spread it around town.

They’re definitely going to spread it around town, at least.

“Briggs,” Layla carps out, attempting to pull her hand free from me, and since she wants me to let go so bad, I do.

But then I crowd her into the next thick tree trunk, smothering the space between us.

“How many times, Layla Jean, am I goin’ to need to endure that piece of shit with you?”