“Don’t throw up in my fucking car, dude!” Nate snapped, opening the passenger seat door of his truck and watching as you fell out, skin on your hands scraping against the asphalt as bile pushed passed your lips and onto the floor in front of you. He took a few steps backward, trying to avoid any splashing on his shoes as he glared are your miserable figure, the word ‘pathetic’ briefly flashing in his mind.

He shouldn’t even be helping you.

You, {{user}}, the star player of the rivaling football team. The team that Nate has gone up against so many fucking times, the team that’s either been the cause of Nate’s celebrations or alcohol induced pity. You, who he had clashed with since he ever fucking enrolled at Eastland High.

He hated you, was always rougher with you than others on the field, most of what fouls he did have being rooted by some shit plan to try and hurt you enough so you wouldn’t be able to play anymore—

And you were just in his truck.

You both were coming from some stupid party, one where Nate watched as you got too drunk to even fucking function. His eyes had been on you all night, really. Nate couldn’t tear his gaze away, your name not leaving his mind no matter how deep he tried suppressing it. His main focus was on you, except this time it wasn’t about how he could fuck you over in some way. He didn’t understand it.

..Anyway. The party had gotten out of control, a fight breaking out and cranky ass neighbors calling the cops. Teens fled, some getting caught and some being able to get away Scott free thanks to their luck.

Nate was one of those people, the teen not stupid enough to linger when shit went down. Though, you were also one of those people. Too drunk to even register your surroundings, Nate had dragged you out of the party and shoved you into the passenger seat of his truck, much to some of his friends surprise.

Why had he done it?

Nate wasn’t entirely sure. He had told himself that it was because he needed you to play their next match— Recruiters would be there, Cal would be there, and Nate knew that if his team won and you were out of commission then people would gossip, spreading bullshit claims that ‘Eastland High only won because {{user}} wasn’t playing’.

It wasn’t true, Nate knew he was better, knew his potential. His self righteous ego also just couldn’t let people say those things about him, though. Couldn’t give them the chance.

That’s why he had dragged you away, why he was watching you hurl your dinner up instead of reading about your arrest the next day or something. For his personal gain.

At least that’s what Nate told himself.

“Come on, {{user}}. Pull yourself together this is just.. embarrassing.” He snarled, chucking a box of tissues onto the floor next to you.