“Why the fuck is Colton Cavanaugh here?” Derek, a teammate, asks.
“No clue,” Paulie replies and then eyes me. I say nothing, just continue on with practice, like I’m not showing off for him.
I play the best I have in ages.
So well, in fact, that the coach calls a small break and stares at me.
“I mean, I know you’re good, Witkoff, but you’re on fire today. You sure you don’t want any recruiters out here to watch you?”
I nod. I don’t give a fuck about playing professionally. But even still, my coach’s words puff me up a bit.
“All right, well then, take ten. You earned it.”
When I look up, I see Colton making his way down the bleachers, his eyes traveling around the field.
But when they land on me, I feel the fire ignite inside of me.
Fuck, when did I get so obsessed with him?
I don’t know.
I really don’t fucking know.
“You played good out there, Witkoff,” Colton says, leaning over the fence separating the field from the stands.
“I did.”
His lips twitch. “Getting cocky?”
“I just know how well I played.”
He bites his bottom lip, and his eyes flick across my face. His voice lowers. “I want to kiss you.”
That makes my heart rate accelerate.
“Maybe I’ll make you wait.”
His lips curl up.
“Or you could meet me under the bleachers and let me stick my tongue in your mouth.”
The thought of it has me peering over my shoulder. Everyone is watching us, but I can’t be bothered. I want that kiss, and I want it now.
“If you say please.”
“Please. I want you.”
“I don’t know,” I say, pretending like I don’t want it as desperately as I do.
Colton’s lips turn down. “You do know. Tell me you know how much you want it, how much you want me.”
My eyes slam into his.
“I do want it.”
“Thank fuck.”
I nod to the right, and Colton follows, his fingers bumping along the top of the metal fencing as we walk side by side.
