8: Gage.
“Damn. Who is the hot girl in the stands?”
“Haven’t seen her before. Fuck. Those legs are begging to be
clamped around my head.”
They shove each other. “After me, bro.”
I don’t even glance up from the playbook. This is normal bullshit from my teammates. They’re always going on and on about women, their bodies. I don’t have the heart to break it to them that all of their groupies look the same. They can’t hold a candle to my Stella. Jesus, I want her. I want her so bad, but I’ve got another half hour of practice until she takes me to her secret place. I’m dying to see it. Dying to know everything about her-
“Oh shit, dude. That’s Weston’s girl.”
“What?” He sounds nervous. “No…she…that’s not how she looked earlier.”
My chin snaps up, something sharp and ugly winding down my throat and wrapping around my vocal cords. Weston’s girl. Stella. They’re talking about my Stella? I didn’t even have to say a word when I stepped on the field. It went unspoken that she is off fucking limits. So why are they talking about her? I’m going
B: Gage.
to break the neck of whoever spoke about her legs out loud.
A roar is building in my chest when I finally spot her–and
everything goes silent around me, as if all signs of life have
been sucked out of the air. When the noise returns, I’m midway
through that bellow. I’ve ripped the helmet off my head and thrown it at the water table, knocking over rows of green paper Gatorade cups.
Stella is watching me approach, wide eyed and shell shocked,
but I can’t calm myself down to reassure her. “Who did this?”
I jump the fence separating the field and the stands, my cleats
loud on the stairway leading up. Up to her. Where she waits with
her skirt rolled up, her flat belly exposed, hair twisted up on top
of her head, lips fire–engine red. I’m getting hard even though I
hate what they’ve done to her. There’s no way to stop my cock
from reacting to so much of her skin being exposed, because it’
s too succulent, too sweet, too mine. Mine.
Sweet Jesus, those tits.
Whoever did this has taken her out of the giant, button–down
shirt, where I preferred her, and left her in an undershirt that
they’ve knotted beneath her breasts. Despite how pissed off I
must look, I watch her little nipples bead under the thin material
and my balls swell out of my protective cup. Shit. Shit. I’m drawing so much attention to her right now and I shouldn’t be.
My teammates are already taking notice of how absolutely gone.
I am for Stella. These are the most competitive men in the
world. They always want the best. They’re always trying to win it
for themselves. Not this time.
Not happening.
I have to find a way to fend them off.
She’s only for me. She’s mine to keep.
When I reach Stella, I pull her up against me, looking down into her face. Goddammit, she was already so fucking beautiful, I could barely stand it. But they’ve made her hot and sexy on top. of it. Now I’m insane. I’m going insane. “Give me back her
clothes,” I growl, roughly unrolling her skirt, hiding her lithe
thighs as quickly as possible. “Who did this to her? She was
already perfect. Who did this?”
“I…I just…we were just having some fun,” squeaks some idiot to my left.
I spare her a brief glance, just long enough to discern who is
talking. Who is responsible.
I gesture to one of the security guards that has followed me into the stands. “Get her out of here.” I jerk my chin at the idiot. “She doesn’t come back.”
They usher her out of the stands, no questions asked, while she sputters. That’s the kind of power I have around here. That’s the kind of power I’ll have wherever I’m going. But it’s becoming painfully obvious that I can’t stop people from recognizing that I‘ ve found the greatest treasure of my life. I can’t stop people
from noticing her. Wanting her.
“You’ve overreacting,” she whispers as I untie her hair, arranging
it in waves around her shoulders, hiding her delicious neck. Even her ears are tempting. Christ. “You can’t just have her banned
from the stadium. She was only trying to help.”
“There is nothing to help,” I rasp. “Where is her shirt?”
Someone puts in my hands and I wrap it around her shoulders,
buttoning it with as much efficiency as I can muster when I’m
burning alive. Needing her underneath me. Needing everyone to
stop looking at what’s mine. Now.
“There’s nothing to help,” Stella says, repeating me. “How can
prompt her again, desperate to know what’s going on in her
- us. Every. Single. Person. They’ve stopped what they’re doing to
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