Craving My Brother's Best Friend (Bailey and Kaleb) novel Chapter 25

**The Night We Borrowed Fire from a Broken Star by Selvin Arlo Crest**
**Chapter 25**

**Kaleb’s POV**

I found my gaze wandering repeatedly to the far side of the field, where Bailey stood leaning against the fence. The sunlight caught her hair, transforming it into a radiant halo that seemed to glow. She wore a casual top and a pair of jeans, yet the simplicity of her outfit only accentuated her beauty, making it impossible for me to look away.

With her arms crossed over her chest, she maintained a serene expression as she observed the game, her calm demeanor contrasting sharply with the chaos around me. Every time I attempted to concentrate on the ball, my eyes betrayed me, drawn irresistibly back to her. It was as if an invisible force pulled me toward her, and I had no power to resist.

A tightness gripped my chest as memories of our encounter in the locker room flooded my mind. I could still feel the heat of her breath against my skin, the way she whispered my name, sending shivers down my spine. My fingers flexed around the ball, recalling the intimacy we had shared. I had lost my composure when I thought she was with Ethan, only stopping when my phone buzzed incessantly, pulling me back to reality.

“Kaleb!”

The coach’s voice thundered across the field, jolting me from my thoughts.

I shook my head, trying to clear the fog that enveloped my mind.

“Focus! What’s wrong with you today?” the coach barked, his frustration palpable.

“I’m good, coach,” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper, but my heart raced with anxiety.

As the game resumed, I fought to shove thoughts of Bailey from my mind. I took possession of the ball, sprinting forward with determination and preparing to make a throw. But instead of landing in my teammate’s hands, the ball sailed straight into the arms of the opposing team.

The whistle pierced the air, sharp and unforgiving.

“For God’s sake, Kaleb!” the coach shouted, irritation lacing his tone. “Wake up!”

I rubbed my face with both hands, exasperated. My teammates groaned in unison, their disappointment echoing my own. Bailey stood there, a faint smile playing on her lips, likely amused by something else entirely, yet my heart leapt, imagining it was directed at me.

“Concentrate!”

I steeled myself and tried again. I ran, dodged, and leaped, determination coursing through my veins. But out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Ethan making his way to the sidelines.

He grabbed a water bottle, tilted it back to quench his thirst, and then, without a second thought, sauntered over to Bailey.

Time seemed to freeze as I dropped the ball, my heart racing.

Ethan leaned casually against the fence beside her, a towel draped over his shoulders, his lips moving as he spoke. I could see Bailey laugh at something he said, and it felt like a dagger twisting in my chest.

My fists clenched involuntarily at my sides.

“Kaleb, move!” someone yelled, their voice cutting through the haze of my anger.

But it was too late; I was shoved aside by another player, and I hit the ground hard, the grass scraping against my skin.

The whistle blew again, a sharp reminder of my blunder.

“What the hell is going on with you?” the coach’s voice boomed, but it sounded distant, muffled by my growing frustration.

My eyes remained locked on Ethan, who continued to chat with Bailey, as if he had every right to be there.

When he finally returned to the field, I shot him a glare that could have burned a hole through steel.

He smirked, and that infuriating expression only fueled my anger further.

“Looks like you’ll be cut from the team; you’re a mess,” he muttered as he passed by me, his tone dripping with condescension.

My body tensed, and I took a step closer, my voice low but simmering with fury. “What did you just say?”

Ethan shrugged, feigning innocence. “You’re distracted and delaying everyone.”

“Say it again,” I snapped, my patience wearing thin.

His eyes narrowed, a challenge flickering in them. “Or what? You’ll miss another throw?”

In a surge of anger, I shoved him hard, and he retaliated, pushing back.

The field fell silent, the atmosphere thick with tension, except for the sharp sound of the coach’s whistle piercing through the air once more.

“That’s enough!” the coach roared, striding toward us with purpose. “Both of you out! Off the field! Now!”

“Coach—” Ethan began, but the coach cut him off.

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