CHAPTER 8: Did he have a tendency of speaking in German when he gets hurt?

We all make mistakes. We all goof up big time sometimes. There are always those moments you wish you could take back in life. The moments where all you wished was to be swallowed by the ground abruptly. On top of that, people say mistakes made in your life are the very ones that make it stronger and worth living for.

Tell me if this mistake will even let me live the next 30 seconds to pray for my basically about to be non-existent life.

"What the fuck?" Caleb yells.

No, what the actual fuck?

I run towards Caleb, my sweaty short sticking annoyingly to my thighs. He was lying on the ground, still holding his nose in his hand, his eyes shut close. He seemed to be in pain.

Well, no shit Summer. You must have broken his nasal bone.

"Are you okay?" I mutter out as I fidget my fingers nervously. 98% due to the fear of Caleb tossing my head off like a soccer ball and the 2% due to the fact that this is the first time I'm having a conversation with Caleb Anderson.

It's not even a decent one at that too.

"Are you efen cucking seros?"

Did he have a tendency of speaking in German when he gets hurt?

"Um... I didn't really get you?" I saw slowly so that he doesn't get angrier than he even is.

"Are you blind or what? Who the fuck kicks a ball like that?" he finally says clearly, as he stands up furiously.

"Excuse me. I did apologize as a matter of fact." I sassily say. Did he seriously say all that to me? Oh hell no. I don't think so.

"Your apology can kiss my ass! Why do you even play if you don't know how to?" he glares at me, rubbing his nose to see if there was any blood on it.

Luckily, there wasn't. Now I wish there was.

He fucking didn't go on that. Not on my playing abilities.

"Don't forget I just kicked your team's ass. We won because of me." I know for a fact that me stating that proudly was wrong, but this jerk had to be shown where he belongs.

"Oh please. That was definitely by fluke. You don't belong to this team, alright?" he sneers and walks off towards the bleachers.

I was not one to give up and so, me being silly me, I ran after him and confronted him even in a worse way. Something that could basically ruin my life.

"You aren't the coach or captain last time I checked and so you have no goddamn rights to decide where I belong, get it?" I point a finger at him angrily, looking into his eyes the whole time.

His gray eyes were mesmerizing – something worth appreciating and complimenting. Unfortunately, he wasn't. Pity these eyes went to the wrong person. Those eyes were ablaze with anger – I should have been scared but I surprisingly wasn't.

Good thing, anger does to you. Dampened my fears.

"Just move away from here." He sighs and says, anger still evident in his voice, as he stuffs his water bottle in his bag and walks past me while brushing my shoulder in the process.

His audacity.

Ugh.

I look at him walk off majestically as if he didn't just insult me a few seconds back.

The nerve of this guy.

He officially made it to number 1 on my 'Top 10 people I hated' list.

I pick my bag, slump it over my shoulder and stomp off angrily as I spot Jason and Aaron walking with the rest of the boys.

"Summer! We are going out. Don't wait up for us!" Aaron shouts from across the field dramatically.

I nod my head while rolling my eyes at his childish behavior and over the fact that I'll have to walk home. The universe really has a problem with my 'very fit' body.

I'm going heavy on the sarcasm, aren't I?

I drag my feet along the pavement, rising my head to look at the sky. The fading sun was slowly snatching all the golden hues and orange streaks, steadily replacing it with a darker blue shade.

I lazily open the door to the apartment, suddenly feeling tired and exhausted. I dump my keys on the wooden table and plop down on the sofa, replaying today's events all over again.

The tryouts that surprisingly went well and then fighting with Caleb over a trivial issue that his dumbass couldn't accept. What was the need for exaggerating his point? I mean, he is a strong soccer player and a small kick is nothing compared to the daily injuries he would be getting.

I'm telling you he has a personal enmity with me. Possibly due to his psycho girlfriend, Veronica West.

I already feel my intelligence reducing at the mention of her name.

I take my bag and zip it open to take out my phone and-

What the fuck?

Since when did I have a t-shirt that said: "Fuck me"?

And my phone was definitely not an iPhone 7.

THIS WASN'T MY BAG!

I recall my talks with Caleb and deduce that he must have picked the wrong bag during our heated stare-off.

So much for scaring me, huh?

Now what? I couldn't even call him or go to his house since I had no idea of where that imp lived.

The doorbell ringing broke me out of my trance and I quickly stood up to open the door. Must be Draven. He might have that jerk's number.

"Well, hello there."

Not even in my wildest dreams did I expect Caleb Anderson to smile at me leave alone a simple hey. Well I guess, the past few days my destiny wasn't really supporting me much.

"What on earth are you doing here?" I exclaim as I open the door even further.

"No need to be excited. I just came to get my bag." Caleb states irritatingly.

"Oh, there is no way I would even be an ounce happy after seeing you. Jerk." I mutter the last part to myself as I walk back to the sofa and stuff his belongings back in the bag. I turn abruptly and I crash into his chest, my hands automatically finding their way on his shoulders.

What a...compromising situation?

His gray eyes bore into mine while my hands still stay on his shoulders – I really wonder why. His hands held my waist in a tight grip and I was afraid I would even get bruised there. I try to shake him off me but he doesn't budge.

Bloody well-built handsome hunk.

My mind was really going haywire right now.

"Let go, Caleb." I squirm under his harsh hold and move my legs in an attempt to walk backward but he just pulls me impossibly closer which results to me gasping loudly.

He leans in and brings his mouth closer to my ear, his light stubble grazing my cheeks which were turning rosy.

"Don't ever call me a jerk." He whispers huskily, in a manner that sends strange shivers down my spine and an excited feeling surges through my body.

After that act of mere stupidity, he simply moves away as if he had not just intimately touched me 0.23 seconds ago. His face has a blank yet emotive expression and his jaw was clenched.

I throw him his bag while he throws me mine and he walks off towards the door.

But not before saying something stupid.

"Cute legs. But they belong to someone better than you." He smirks as he stands a few inches away from the door. I open and close my mouth like a dumbfounded fish, still wondering what the hell he was saying.

"I could say the same about you...though nothing of yours is cute. So meh." I shake my head in a pitiful way, evilly grinning from the inside.

"Oh there's a lot on me that's cute." Yuck. That was absolutely gross. Look at him having the guts to talk about his...umm...whatever...in my house. He winks and smirks and smirks and smirks and smirks-

You get my point.

What was it with boys and their infinity smirks?

"Doubt so. Now get out." I deadpan, taking two steps forward but preventing myself from pushing and kicking him out of the house.

Hell, that would be one good scene for which I would pay a million dollars.

At least pay off your bills first.

We'll... come to that, alright?

"I just got started. Wait and watch how I ruin your entire existence." He narrows his eyes at me, challenging me to come at him.

"Are you sure you didn't just walk into the wall when you were young? You seem to have had your head hit pretty bad considering the consequential brain cells loss." I say while crossing my arms over my chest to get my point across.

"Take care of those heavy words, blondie. You might just have to pay for them." That seemed to anger him so I smirked even more, despite him calling me blondie.

Trust me, I've got that a lot.

"It's okay, I anyways don't deal with cheap stuff like you." I throw him the most sarcastic smile I could ever muster.

This was the first fight ever that went my way. Damn happiness knows no bounds.

"Mind that tongue or else I will." He tries to come forward but I take a step closer to him and poke his chest. That anger of his was triggering my happiness.

"Go play tongue with one of your toys, Anderson. Don't threaten me on my property." I glare at him, enough for him to back off and suddenly my finger kind of missed the warmth his chest radiated.

Why am I suddenly so poem-y?

"Technically, it isn't yours." That was absolutely lame.

"Oh, technically it's mine. You're standing in MY house. Mind your language." I roll my eyes at him and look at the clock on the right side, counting the seconds eagerly of how much I could take of this boy.

"Or what? You can't do shit to me, blondie." He emphasizes on the last part while smirking.

"I could do lots of stuff to you – all things bad, jerk... now get out." I say sternly while leaning forward.

"Gladly." Having said that, he stomps off and I let out a sigh of frustration thinking why I had to talk to Caleb Anderson.

Sometimes life does kick you in the guts. Hard.