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“We playing, or what?” he asks.

“Let’s do it.”

I lay in wait a couple more minutes, but next time Rowan has the ball dribbling between his cleats with a clear path to the goal, I run him down, and I don’t quit until he’s back on the ground.

The back of his head thuds on the grass, and that’s when I see it. The rage. Not a lot, but just enough for him to grit his teeth and say, “You got balls, babyface.”

“Don’t call me that.”

One of his buddies checks me back while Rowan pulls himself up.

“You gonna cry about it?” Rowan asks. “Huh? Like a fucking baby?”

“Fuck you.” I start at him, but his buddy checks me again, like Rowan’s personal bodyguard. I can’t help but laugh.

“We got a problem?” Rowan asks.

“Yeah, we got a problem.”

“Think good on it. Just ‘cause you’re built like Captain America doesn’t mean I can’t fuck you up.”

I stiff arm the bodyguard and charge Rowan. Get right up in his face, chest to chest. I press my forehead into his and steal his body heat to fuel my anger.

It’s true I’m built. The time I used to spend on a field, I spend lifting now, and I’m bigger than I’ve ever been. Big enough to wallop Rowan into the ground, if that’s really what I want. A guy as lean as Rowan shouldn’t intimidate a guyas big as me, but life ain’t that black and white, and Rowan doesn’t back down.

His eyes don’t blink as they stare into mine. He licks his lips, and it breaks my focus for the millisecond it takes for Rowan to smirk like he just won something.

I let it get to me even though I shouldn’t, and I let myself get flustered enough to shove him back. Not hard enough for him to fall, but hard enough to concede how intimidated I really am by him.

Still smirking, he says, “Spit it out, baby boy. I take your parking spot or something?”

“You fucked my girlfriend, dickhead.”

I’m too caught up to appreciate the falter in Rowan’s bravado or the way his eyes finally shift from mine, like he suddenly cares about the others around us.

“Nah, man,” he says. “You’re looking for someone else.”

“I’m looking for you.”

“I don’t hook up with girls with boyfriends.”

“You hooked up with Annalese Smith.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

This fucker.Can’t even man up to his own bullshit. King of confidence here, but he’s just as big a fraud as Lese. I dig my phone from my joggers, swipe the photo Malik sent, and turn the screen to Rowan.

“What the fuck is that?” he asks.

Grumbling, I zoom in on the image until Rowan and Lese are front and center, then I show him again.

“Shit.” The moment the word breezes past Rowan’s lips, I know we’re finally on the same page. His eyes widen a touch, then flit from my phone to me. “She never said anything about a boyfriend. I’m sorry, man. I really am.” His hands raise up insurrender, almost convincing me he means it. Right up until he smirks again. “But your girl gives trash head.”

Whether it’s rage from his jeer or humiliation from his buddies snickering behind me, I finally snap and do what I came here for.

Next time Rowan’s back is on the ground, it’s right after I drive my fist into the side of his face. It’s the first time I’ve socked someone since middle school. It feels damn good. Rowan is a groaning mess on the grass by the time I step over him and march back to my truck.

So much for being able to fuck me up.