Page 20 of Faking the Goal

He's close.

Way too fucking close.

Close enough that I can smell the clean spice of his cologne beneath the lingering scent of soap. Close enough to see the darker ring around his hazel irises and the pulse beating hard in his neck. All that anger crackling between us suddenly feels different at this distance, hotter somehow, and my stupid body chooses this exact moment to become interested in a man I currently want to strangle.

Absolutely fucking not.

I shove my palm against his chest. "Get off your high horse and out of my space."

Kentaro immediately straightens, but I'm too pissed now to stop.

"And while we're discussing my supposed lack of self-respect, do you ever give these little speeches to your teammates?"

His brows draw together. "What?"

"Your friends hook up all the fucking time. I've seen the same guys leave parties with different girls every weekend, and something tells me you aren't cornering them afterward to ask whether they've misplaced their dignity."

His jaw clenches.

"So what's the difference?" I demand. "When they sleep around, they're just guys having fun, right? Nobody questions their self-respect. Nobody tells them they're making themselves too easy. But I do the exact same fucking thing and suddenly you're concerned that men are going to think I'm only good for sex?"

Nothing.

For once, Kentaro Azuma has absolutely fucking nothing to say.

I give a small, bitter laugh. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

His lips part, but I don't let him get a word in.

"You want to call me shameless? Easy? A cheap slut? Go ahead. I know you've been dying to say it since the first time you saw me walk out of that bathroom." I hold his gaze, refusing to let him see that any of this got beneath my skin. "But here's the part you apparently haven't figured out yet: I don't give a fuck what you think of me. I don't give a fuck what anyone thinks of me. It's my body, my life, and I don't need your respect or your permission to decide what I do with either one."

I step around him this time, and he doesn't stop me.

"Good night, Sunshine."

And I walk away before the asshole gets another chance to ruin mine.

CHAPTER 4

TAYLOR

By the time I shove through the front door of the Pond, I'm still fucking fuming.

I weave past a group of drunk students crowded on the porch, barely paying attention when one of them stumbles into my path because my brain is too busy replaying every infuriating word Kentaro said upstairs.

You ever think about having some fucking self-respect?

God, fuck him.

"Nope. I'm done with that asshole," I mutter as I stomp down the front steps. "Completely fucking done."

From now on, Kentaro Azuma and I don't exist in the same universe. Outside of whatever interaction is absolutely necessary for Student Media, I want nothing to do with that stone-cold, emotionally constipated prick. As far as I'm concerned, I'm avoiding him like the plague because that's exactly what he is. A six-foot-two, perpetually pissed-off plague with goalie pads.

And the fucking nerve of him lecturing me about self-respect like he's some flawless specimen of moral superiority.

Please.

The man walks around like his shit comes out gift-wrapped with a fucking bow on it.