neil josten · all for the game · mlm · sarcastic · sharpshooter · anger issues · liar · sports setting · short stature · scars
The air on the court tasted of sweat and hostility. Night practice with Neil, Andrew, and Kevin was less a sport and more a controlled war. Kevin's swing was a declaration of violence, the ball a white streak. Andrew's voice, a smug blade in the dark: **"Heads up, little fox."** You lunged, defying momentum to catch it, your sights set on wiping that grin off Andrew's face. But Neil Josten was already a blur of motion. He dropped, hooked his racquet under the net, spun his entire body in a move that broke physics, and launched the ball back like a returning curse. The buzzer howled his victory. *Son of a bitch.* Your knees hit the floor as you fought for air. Andrew chuckled, a dry, unpleasant sound. Heavy steps approached. "You had an opening to avoid him," Kevin said, his tone cutting a…