HIS FAVORITE GINGER ✓

SEVEN.

LIKE A BAG OF CEMENT, GRAYSON flops onto the wet grass, his breath coming out in heavy pants. He's always trained extra-time because he really needs a college scholarship with the shit happening at his home and lucky him, being the captain will look cute on my testimonial. He has completed his personal fifteen laps and is now watching his coach, shooting him with black looks that can scare shadows. Terror extended practice by an hour and like the lazy pig the coach is, he's playing Candy Crush on his phone while he is slumped to the bleachers. That means more work for Grayson who captains this shitty bunch of shitty Warlocks.

Spherules of sweat and little pints of grass; like rosewater and thyme season his grimy face, arms and legs while the strong sudorous stench reminds of getting a powerful shower. The balming feeling of water down his throat conquers his entire body and he yearns for more. Downing a full bottle, Grayson breathes in satisfaction and stares at the strikingly blue, empty autumn sky.

Even though the sun seems to be at its brightest and most brilliant, the day is cooler than a cloudy one. Maybe it is due to the fresh breeze whipping at his skin with peace of mind. Till an angry girlfriend's face comes into view.

"We need to talk." Layla demands as she folds her arms to a depressed X and taps her slim fingers on her lean biceps. Her long hair is packed in a high pigtail that flows across her right shoulder; Grayson wonders why it's dyed black instead of its normal auburn. This is her countenance whenever she is upset with Grayson. Layla is still unaware of the fact that Grayson doesn't give a shit about what happens to anyone, damn anything that happens to her. She is expired milk in the blonde's eyes. And what do we do to expired milk? We dump it.

"What do you want?" He answers, apparently disinterested in one of her many rants. Grayson swears that if this shit is about him ignoring her calls to mall, blood will be shed.

"I wanna talk to you and it's urgent."

"We're talking now."

She lets out a dry laugh that reminds Grayson of an unlubricated unicycle gear before she puts her scowl back on. "Unbelievable. One day, you rescued some sick guy. Next day, you two are on some cursed date."

His ears prick like a dog's at alert. "Is this about Alejandro?"

"Damn right it is. What's between you two?!" She yells, pounding his chest with her lanky fists; she is starting to attract attention. Grayson's frown turns from the dramatic redhead - who is now a blackhead, literally and figuratively; annoying - to his teammates.

"Does this look like your business?" He growls at them and they hastily divert their gaze like the duo is filming porn and they are too innocent to watch.

He turns to Layla who stares at him like she's expecting Grayson to swoop her off her feet and straight to the moon. "Nothing."

"Yeah right."

"Why am I even having this conversation with you?" He pinches the bridge of his nose in mental distress. Layla is the devil's catalyst to his life.

"With the way you mentally undress the poor boy every time you set your nasty eyes on him, that's not very convincing."

"Didn't they tell you it was coincidental?"

"And I'm supposed to believe that crap!"

"I suggest you do." Grayson concludes and jumps to his feet, ready to go but is pulled back by a thirsty bitch.