My Bad Boy’s Ego — Chapter 24

"Are you serious, Aubrey?" Bella warns me in her motherly tone as she crosses her arms, "Again?"

I nodded slowly in regret.

"You remember what happened to you the last time you gave him a chance?" Bella scowls, tapping her foot against the white marble floor. I was sitting on one of the chairs in the school lounge, looking up at her with my sketchbook resting on my lap.

"Yeah, but," I shrugged and talked in a slightly high-pitched voice, "I still want to know what all of that was about?" I questionably answered, looking like a complete fool.

Bella rolls her eyes, and sits down on the arm rest of my chair, "Alright, fine. But this better be for a good reason this time," she sighs, looking down at her feet.

"Okay, mom," I joked, nudging her side as she jumped up from the arm rest. She squealed from her ticklish sides; earning many glares from the students studying around us. I smiled at her and hid my head from all the eyes; looking down at my notebook, and continued sketching.

The pencil lightly brushed against the paper, creating soft strokes of lead before I felt something pressing softly against my eyes. It was a pair of palms, hovering over both of my eyes. I curiously held the hands, with a smile plastered on my face, "Bella, what are you doing?" I laughed slightly.

Bella giggled and from my side and answered, "It's not me."

I could feel Bella's arm brushing against mine as she sat on the arm rest of the chair again.

"Colton?" I guess again, blinking as my eyelashes brushed against the palm. I felt the knuckles of the palm, it was scratchy; maybe even scarred.

"Guess again," the voice sang.

I shot up from my seat and pushed Isaiah's hands out of my face, "Go away," I hissed underneath my breath.

I didn't know what I was angry at him about. The fact that I trusted him and gave Landon another chance, or the fact that he beat the crap out of Landon. Those are two completely compelling reasons.

I shook my head and tried to focus my attention onto my sketchbook. Isaiah invited himself to sit on the other side of the arm rest, smiling sheepishly at me.

"What are you drawing?" he asked.

I continued to ignore him.

Bella, sitting on the opposite side leans down and whispers in my ear, "What is he doing here?"

"I don't know," I hissed back, sending a glare towards Isaiah.

"Jeez," he held up both of his hands. His right wrist was wrapped around with white cloth, probably an injury from the victory fight against Landon. I stared at his wrist uninterestedly and blinked at him.

"Come on, I told you I owed you," he pursued, looking down at me. His black wavy hair hung down towards the middle of his forehead.

"Doesn't mean you can just beat someone else up, lifelessly," I mumbled underneath my breath, turning my attention back down to my lap.

Bella started to feel uncomfortable in her seat, and suddenly stood up, "I'm going to go to the bathroom," she casually excuses before drifting off.

I pressed my lips together after acknowledging the fact that Bella had left me alone with Isaiah. I closed my sketchbook and grabbed my backpack in attempt to leave as soon as possible.

Isaiah didn't say anything. Instead, got up and stood up as if he was waiting for me to pack up so we could go somewhere together. I tried to ignore him, hoping that if I ignore him enough; he would just leave.

I swung my backpack across my shoulder and welcomed myself towards the exit; he followed. I tried to close the door on him but being the strong soccer player he is, he caught the door and pushed it open for himself. I started speeding up, walking towards the back parking lot of the school. Even though I was walking in my fastest pace; Isaiah's long strides didn't take him long to catch up with my pace.

He slightly chuckled and tapped my shoulder lightly, "Come on, stop ignoring me."

I finally gave up and swung fully towards him. Since he was still slightly behind me, he was taken by surprise and didn't come to a complete stop. Instead, Isaiah took an incomplete step and tripped when he tried not to walk into me. I screeched as his body leaned towards mine. He grabbed my arms for support in effort to figure out his balance. He nearly fell on the ground as well as I. Luckily, we both caught our balances and stood up straight.

He started laughing uncontrollably, "You should've seen your face," he bit the bottom of his lip, and held his arms against his stomach.

I groaned in annoyance before attempting to leave him again. Isaiah managed to grab my elbow and pull me back; his laugh was gone.

"I'm sorry for kind of dragging you into Landon's little drama," he pressed his lips together, avoiding my gaze as he apologizes. I found it amusing how big and masculine Isaiah's frame was but his personality was almost identical to a little three years old. Shy, timid; and always following me around like a lost child.

I shrugged in response slightly feeling bad for all the grudge I was holding towards him, "Honestly, it's not even your fault." I awkwardly responded, finding out that I was technically mad at him for something Landon has done.

"I mean, it kind of is," he rebutted, looking up at me and couldn't help but smile sheepishly, "I told you to forgive him and you did."

I nodded.

"Thanks for trusting me, I guess," he concluded, nodding as he looks down at me from his incredible height.

Isaiah was a little taller than six-foot, I was a little over five foot three. Looking up at Isaiah soon made the back of my neck tired. He noticed my struggle and bent down slightly to my height, "Shorty," he teased, sticking out his tongue at me.

I couldn't help but to smile sheepishly, putting my hand on his chest and pushing him back up to his original position, "Shut up," I mumbled.

We both started walking towards the art room I usually spend my after school hours in. I stopped in front of the door and waiting for Isaiah to remember about his game. I pressed my lips together awkwardly and stood there; watching him.

He stares back at me and blinks blankly; oblivious of the reason why I stopped in the first place.

"Game," I bluntly stated.

Isaiah's lips formed into a little 'o' as the only sound escaping it was a long hum. I couldn't help but laugh at how slow he was. He raised up his arm and looked at his wrist watch before strengthening up and bouncing on the upper half of his feet.

"I'm kind of late," he nervously tells me, putting his hands impatiently in him soccer joggers.

I rose my eyebrows and immediately pointed towards the end of the hallway, "Go!"

"Come to my game!" he hollers. Before I could formally answer to his demand, he dashed out of the hallway leaving nothing but trails of dust behind his tracks. I sighed at the look, putting my hands on the handle of the door.

Should I go?

I kept my hand on the handle as I was second guessing my free time. Pulling out my phone and pressing the home button; it was about ten until five.

I've got nothing to lose.

Making my final decision, I made my way towards the end of the hallway that Isaiah had rushed down earlier. Shoving my phone in my back pocket, I fixed the bag across my shoulder and continued my way towards the soccer field.

I have only watched Isaiah practice once, never have I seen him play competitively. Jones High was known for soccer; rumors had said that we were the top in the league, but I never really paid much attention to the sport.

Millions of people were lined up outside the opening gate for the soccer field. It was as if people were standing in line for a concert; never have I known that people supported soccer this much. A smile suddenly appeared across my face as I watched all the players squeeze their ways through the front gate.

"ID please," a girl sitting at the desk in front of the gate requested. Swiftly, I pulled out my wallet and showed her my school ID before getting a wristband for the game. The girl hands me a red t-shirt with the school logo, and willingly I accepted it. As I entered the gate, I noticed that the bleachers were already packed.

Students and parents were dressed in red in support of Jones High, as we were playing against Wilbur High, black. I managed to find a seat at the front row bleacher and quickly made my way towards the opening.

I threw on the shirt over my tank top underneath my windbreaker and tied my hair in a high ponytail. The horns blew, initiating the beginning of the game.