She groaned under her breath with a frustrated, helpless sound. “Fine. Later. Just move before someone realizes you’re blackmailing me.”
That made my grin break free. Fuck, I didn’t even want to stop the satisfaction cursing through me.
“You’re enjoying this,” she accused.
I tried not to be smug. “I’m suffering.”
“You don’t look or sound like you’re suffering.”
“That’s because I’m trying not to collapse on top of you,” I grunted. My arms shook as I moved, a burn collecting in my muscles, lungs working overtime to keep pace and stay upright.
“That would actually kill me.”
“It would killme,” I muttered, breathless. If I lowered myself onto her, there was no way I wasn’t kissing her, and my blood was already running hot. No version of that would end with my professionalism intact. No amount of joking with the teams would sell it as accidental. I wouldn’t do that to either of us.
I dragged us farther, inch by inch, but the end in sight, choosing effort over fallout.
We reached the cone, and I stopped, hovering there for a beat longer than necessary, breaths harsh and labored. My body was still keyed for movement, even though the drill was over. Our eyes were locked in a heartbeat, alive and thrashing with things we hadn’t said, even though neither of us knew what they were yet.
She unhooked herself so fast she nearly knocked me sideways. Then she was on her feet, brushing grass from her shorts, already moving away like she hadn’t just been wrapped around me.
21
Teddy
Connor O’Riley was the bane of my existence.
Not in the poetic, star-crossed lover, sigh-into-a-pillow way people romanticized. But in the real, teeth gritting, pulse spiking, furious sense.
I’d barely managed to get away from him when footsteps thundered after me. I didn’t need to turn to know he was following.
I wanted to throw myself into a scrum rather than talk. At least a scrum made sense. At least a scrum came with rules I understood and outcomes I could predict and absolutely no risk of accidentally remembering how his breath felt against my throat, how earnest his big brown eyes were when he talked to me.
Reaching the sideline, I looked out across the pitch, watching everyone else partake in the drill we’d just demonstrated. It was chaos in motion. All arms, legs, laughter, and swearing.
And then there was Nate and Jake, as promised by Coach, coupled together.
Jake was clinging to Nate in complete misery while Nate crawled forward like he was hauling a stubborn, swearing toddler.
“I hate this,” Jake shouted.
“Hold your core, you floppy salmon.”
“I’m trying to not touch your dick! Tape that thing down next time, Jesus.”
Any other day, I would’ve laughed. Instead, I stood there trying to breathe normally while my entire body still remembered being wrapped around Connor. God, he was strong and maddeningly contained, towering above me. I had expected him to show a waver in his restraint, or misstep, but he didn’t. He showed power and agility that went beyond control. And now, I was walking around with the imprint of his body on mine.
I braced myself, swallowing my shredding pride. But before he reached me, Coach Em’s whistle cut across the pitch.
“Sloane! O’Riley! Swap in for the second rep!”
No.
Nofuckingway was I getting in another round with Connor. But my body didn’t agree. Heat shot up my spine, settling at the base of my neck, creeping into my cheeks. My muscles tensed, nerves alert and ready to move in either direction, the locker rooms or his arms again, two sensations battling inside my body. Desire and fear. I hated that I couldn’t tell which impulse would win if I let go for a moment.
I jogged toward Coach with full intention of asking—no, begging—to swap partners. I even opened my mouth. The words were right there, balanced on my tongue. Then I realized exactly what that would look like. What I’dsoundlike.
If I made a fuss, I’d be giving him the one thing I refused to give… proof that he’d rattled me. I wasn’t rattled.
