Rules Of The Game: Book 1

4; The First Stage of Grief... Denial

𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟸𝚗𝚍, 𝚂𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚊𝚢
Parker's POV

My elbow aches from moving as I reach out and take a cold water bottle from a very appalled Miles. When he stopped giggling like a school girl and realized that he might have actually hurt me, he apologized the whole way over here— and still has yet to stop apologizing.

"I can't believe that I crushed you like that, I swear that I only meant to slow you down," Miles rambles, nervously fidgeting with the hem of his tshirt as he watches me.

I chuckle and readjust how I'm sitting on the tailgate on one of my buddies' trucks, holding the makeshift ice pack against my forearm where I ripped some skin off from that tackle.

"Yeah, you definitely can't say that you didn't slow me down," I joke, glancing up at him from underneath my eyelashes.

At first, Miles scowls, then breaks into a smile when he realizes I won't yell at him.

"Oh, whatever. I still feel bad, though. Sorry."

Shaking my head at his continuous apologies, I look past him to watch where everyone else is still playing the game. The noise of all those guys whooping and hollering takes my mind off of the sting of the small injury, although that's all it is; a small injury. I'll probably be sore tomorrow, too; however, that will go away with time.

Miles moves over by me and leans against the tailgate. I look down at him from where I sit, examining his guilt-stricken face.

"You aren't going back out to the field?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Nah. That shit wore me out, and besides, I don't want to risk knocking anyone out cold."

I laugh at the mental image of him tackling someone so hard that they end up blacking out. Yet, I suppose that I wouldn't be surprised either, considering the current shape I'm in.

"Unless you're secretly an NFL linebacker, I don't think you could knock anyone out here. You hit me at a dead run and sent me in the air, yet here I sit," I remark and crack open the cold water bottle meant for my arm.

Miles takes a breath, then grins devilishly as he casts me a cool look. "Trust me, I can definitely make anyone here pass out if I wanted too. No questions asked."

My cheeks go warm at the intention of Miles words, and I have no second thoughts as I lean over and whack him on the back of the head with this water bottle. He laughs and ducks as he reaches back, clutching his head.

"Hey! That was not called for!" Miles exclaims, grinning as he rubs his head.

I laugh again and point my finger at him. "Dude, you're lucky that I'M not the one knocking you out with this bottle! Now we're even. Besides, I barely even hit you."

Miles pouts and runs his fingertips over where I had hit him, pretending that I cracked him with a metal baseball bat instead. "Bullshit, I think I feel blood."

Rolling my eyes, I smile at his feigned pain and open my mouth to ridicule him.

Our conversation is cut short as Turner, some senior varsity baseball player, comes jogging over. His face is red, and his dirty blonde hair sticks to the sweat beads on his hairline, a sure sign of drinking from the past two hours. He stumbles and grabs the side of the truck, breaking out in a toothy grin as he inspects us.