Sweet as Syn

29: GREYSON-The Fight

"Greaves," I grit through clenched teeth, taking an authoritative step towards Hunter on the field. "I don't know if you forgot, but I'm the quarterback. You're the running back." There's a whole load of sarcasm behind my words. "I call the play, you make the play. What the actual fuck are you doing?"

Hunter's nostrils flare as if I'm the one who's been purposefully fucking up every play this practice. He's not listening to me, running around doing his own thing, being the worst teammate.

"You keep playing selfish, we're gonna get our dicks castrated by Notre Dame this weekend. We can't afford another loss after Clemson smoked us."

Like I said before, I'm horrifying when I'm pissed. Trust me, no one wants to be on the receiving end of it. But right now, Hunter is matching my authority, stepping closer so we're practically chest to chest. The only other time there's been a violent tension between us was at Barzy's when he caught me kissing Syn.

"Don't tell me you're acting like a disobedient child because you're butthurt over Syn..."

The second her name slipped from my lips, he made a low, tortured noise. Dude.

"Can't even go a two hour practice without bringing her up," he snorts with zero humor. "Maybe you're the one fucking up the plays. You're calling shit plays because your head is shoved up her a—"

Before he could finish that sentence, I brought my hand up and fisted his jersey, pulling him flush against me, chest to chest, helmet to helmet. It's not a sweet exchange, it's a warning.

"My stats are unparalleled, so don't make this about me," I say in a way that screams, drop the argument before I rip your helmet off and wrap my hands around your neck! I'm wholly aware of my teammates' eyes on us. "When I'm on the field, that's where my head is at. Don't talk about Syn like she's some punt bunny who's messing with my head. She's your best friend, too."

I'm not the captain yet, but these guys look up to me, and I will be next season. I usually don't have to, but right now, I'm forced to demand respect from my own damn teammate, my best friend, and it's making me a little sick.

His answering scowl and dark blue glare have me shoving him. It wasn't hard enough to send him flying, just a way to show him if he keeps it up, I'll bring more to the table.

"Don't test me," I mutter before resuming position, calling out a simple blast play.

Running back, AKA Hunter, takes a handoff from me and hits between offensive guard and tackle before middle linebacker can tackle him. It's the simplest of carries, so if Hunt messes this up, I'll beat the living shit out of him.

His eyes are cold as ice as he sprints toward me. Instead of snatching my handoff, he rams right into me, tackling me to the ground. I usually don't go down so easy, but he took me by surprise. The hit was so hard and intentional, my helmet flew off.

Unlucky for him, the shock lasted a whole of a millisecond before I recovered, flipping our position so I ended up on top. Adrenaline surges through my veins as I tear his helmet off and start pounding into his face.

I barely register the shouts of my teammates as knuckle collides with bone. I don't budge when Hunter's fist reaches up and knocks me in the jaw. The guy is about the same size as me, so he is very capable of causing damage, but my pent-up rage over him bitching about Syn for the past few weeks gives me an advantage. The tension has only grown thicker and uglier the happier I seem to be, and what the fuck is that about?

Just as I am about to throw a punch hard enough to snap his nose in two, I am ripped off of him by Cameron and Travis. Lucky day for his pretty boy face.