Page 89 of Bitter When He Begs

But Sage does.

My boy exists in his own space, well-known in his own circles but not campus-wide, not like me. People know of him, yeah, but they don’t talk about him the way they talk about athletes, don’t follow him the way they follow us, don’t put his name in their mouths unless they’re in his orbit.

And now, because of me, that’s changing.

So I try.

I try to get it.

I try to respect it.

But that doesn’t mean I like it, and it sure as fuck doesn’t mean I’m okay with what I hear throughout the day. Because I do hear it everywhere I go. The whispers, the comments, the bullshit.

“Did you hear? Luca’s dating him.”

“I bet it’s a joke. There’s no way he’s serious.”

“Maybe it’s a bet. You know how athletes are.”

“God, I hope he’s not actually into that guy.”

I clench my jaw, fingers twitching, every muscle in my body tensing like I’m gearing up for a fight I can’t start.

I know people talk. I know this is normal. But that doesn’t mean I won’t fucking break someone if they say the wrong shit in front of me.

I’m standing with some of my teammates near the athletics building, half-listening to whatever dumb shit Eli and Julian are talking about, when my eyes flick across the quad and immediately lock onto him.

Sage is standing with Nate and they’re arguing. I can tell from the way Nate’s arms are moving, his hands cutting through the air in sharp, frustrated motions, his face tight with irritation.

Sage, on the other hand, looks exhausted; his shoulders are slightly hunched and his mouth is pressed into a thin line like he’s tired of whatever the hell they’re fighting about.

I don’t need to guess what it is.

I already know.

Nate’s been pissed since I showed up in Sage’s life. He hasn’t said much to me directly, but he doesn’t have to—I see it in the way he glares at me whenever I’m around, the way he practically looms over Sage like he’s some big fucking protector, the way his whole body vibrates with barely restrained hostility every time we’re in the same space.

And now, looking at the two of them?

Yeah.

I’m pretty fucking sure Nate is losing his shit over me right now.

A part of me wants to go over there, to cut through whatever argument they’re having and remind Nate that whatever he thinks he knows about Sage and me, it doesn’t fucking matter because, at the end of the day, I’m the one Sage wants.

But I know Sage, and I know that if I do that, it’ll just make everything worse. So instead, I pull out my phone, type out a quick text, and send it.

Me: You good?

I watch from a distance as Sage glances at his phone. He doesn’t reply right away, just tightens his jaw, and slides it into the pocket of his jeans.

Not good, then.

I try to ignore the way that bothers me. So I force myself to turn back to my teammates and tune into their conversation, instead of going over to Sage and intervening in his argument.

I get to practice early and stretch out, then roll my shoulders and prepare myself for whatever Coach has planned. And whenhe does get there, the first thing out of his mouth is that today’s going to be hell.

And fuck, he wasn’t kidding.