He moves toward me and fists my tank top, twisting and gripping it tightly in his hand. “And I asked you what that’s supposed to mean. Answer the goddamn question.”
Glancing down at his fist, I again ignore the question and ask one of my own. “Are you trying to intimidate me right now because you dislike me, or just to prove to yourself you’re a super-tough-manly-man by throwing your fists around?”
He tightens his grip on my shirt. “I swear to God, Becker. I will kick your fucking ass.”
I smirk and decide to stop torturing him, with regards to his question anyway. “What’s interesting is even in loose swim trunks, you can clearly make out the lines of a certain part of the male anatomy, particularly when it grows.”
He doesn’t refute my statement. “It’s even more obvious in short, tight-ass swim shorts.”
The moon and the bonfire offer the only light around, and the bonfire doesn’t reach very far beyond the perimeter of the logs where people sit, laughing and drinking. Inching closer until his ear and my lips are only a hair’s breadth apart, I parrot his question back at him in a whisper.
“See something you like?” My voice is husky and raw. Ryne’s grip loosens with his sharp intake of breath, though he doesn’t let go. He drags me back into the tree line and pulls me even closer. I cave to the lust that desperately wants to take control of my body, for a moment anyway.
“Did you... did you just bite my ear?” Ryne’s deep voice is tinged with surprise.
“Uh-huh. Licked it a bit too.”
Ryne drops my shirt like he’s been burned and I stumble back a half step.
“Dude, what the fuck.”
I shrug nonchalantly. “You want to manhandle me? Then in return, you’ll get licked, bit, sucked...” I trail off, shrugging again. His eyes narrow but he moves toward me, eliminating the distance once more like he’s drawn to me as much as I’m drawn to him.
My lips softly brush his ear with each murmured word. “Don’t think I didn’t hear that soft groan, Ryne. I’ll say it again. If you choose to manhandle me, I choose to take payback however I see fit.” I slowly brush my lips across his earlobe and suck on it lightly, swirling my tongue around for good measure. The shiver that whispers along his body mirrors my own.
“Your move, Ryne,” I breathe against his skin.
One hand comes up and wraps around my neck. It doesn’t at all hurt, he only squeezes with just enough pressure to get his point across. I don’t know if the rapid pulse I feel is from my own throat or Ryne’s thumb pressed into the hollow of it. He rubs the spot softly and I swallow hard. His grip loosens and he trails his fingers down my chest for a beat or two before he jerks his hand back to his side.
My voice is husky when I speak. “I see.”
“You see what?” His tone is low and cautious, yet holds an undercurrent of interest. It’s even darker where we are now, but I can still make out the challenge, the fire in his gaze. It’s as hot and intoxicating as a row of flaming shots. I want to gulp it all down, even knowing what would await me in the morning: A huge Ryne-sized hangover. A swift breeze wafts between us, ruffling his locks. My fingers itch to reach over and fix one of the misplaced strands of hair, but I don’t. He’s like a skittish, wild horse; just as likely to flee as he is to run at me head-on.
My eyes drift down to his lips, and then back up to hold his unblinking gaze. “You should expect me to collect my payback at some point in the future.”
“Payback.” He scoffs. “For what, exactly?”
I wrap both of my hands around my throat and squeeze, wink, and turn to leave. The low chuckle behind me fades into the wind as I walk away.
8
Ryne
Beep! Beep! Beep!
“Ugh, shut up.”
I fumble for my phone with my eyes closed and turn off the alarm. After seriously considering going back to sleep, I drag my hands through my hair and down my face, and then swing my legs off the bed and begrudgingly sit up. I sit there on the side of the bed just staring bleary-eyed at the rug until my alarm blares again. Grumbling to myself, I shut it off and stand up. I’m exhausted. The last few weeks leading up to this first day of school I’d been running myself hard. Between the long practices, hitting up the weight room often, working extra hours with Nathan, and literally running every morning or evening, sometimes both, my body has been screaming at me to slow down. I can’t do that though. If I’m going to make the pros like Dad, I need some solid playtime in college for visibility. Being a walk-on, I’ve gotta work five times as hard to earn a chance. To sustain that level of effort day in and day out, I’ve got to get and stay in the best shape possible. I’ve gotta be better, faster, stronger, smarter than every other player.
I can’t lose focus.
Throwing school into the mix is one more layer to figure out how to balance, and failure is not an option. I want Dad to be proud of me if he were here, and soccer is the only way I know how to do that. Restlessness swirls deep in my gut and in the back of my mind, but I slam the door on it. Ain’t got no time for that.
Narrowly avoiding a run-in with the pile of clean laundry I’d dumped on the floor and immediately forgotten last night, I pad barefoot into the dimly lit hallway and stumble into the bathroom. My reflection stares groggily back at me from the oval mirror hanging above the toilet: hair that looks like it’s been run through a blender; crusty, bloodshot eyes; a giant crease on my cheek from the pillowcase. I glance down. My abs are looking nice and tight at least, even more so since practice and conditioning have been so intense over the last couple of weeks, plus the extra running and lifting I’d added. A yawn so wide my jaw cracks and my eyes water wakes me up a teeny bit more, and the cold water I splash on my face after flushing and washing my hands does the rest of the job.
Once back in my room I pull a t-shirt over my head and throw on my running shoes, then grab my phone and earbuds and head outside. It’s always a pain in the ass initially waking up, but the run itself clears my head and helps me focus on whatever it is I need to do. Usually. Today? Not so much. It would take a bulldozer to clear a path inside my head right now. It’s the first day of school and I’m already ready for it to be the end of the year. I’ve seen Becker nearly every day since soccer practice started. I wane back and forth between wanting to knock him around a little bit and wanting to do dirty things to him. What I should do is ignore him, pretend he doesn’t exist, and move on with my life. Unfortunately, he’s always there when I turn around, pushing me physically on the field and mentally tormenting me with that tight body of his every time he strips down in the locker room. I try not to look but I’m only human.
I don’t have a bulldozer so I pick up the pace and push myself until my heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest and my lungs scream at me to slow down and catch a breath. Maybe if I go to school exhausted I’ll be able to ignore Becker by default since I won’t be able to keep my eyes open. On the final stretch of my run, my mind wanders back to the end of our last practice. I completely accidentally on purpose glanced over at him while he was changing and watched a drop of sweat trail from between his shoulder blades down to the small of his back, and had a fleeting thought wondering what he might taste like. Not only is that disgusting, but it’s also just weird and irritating. He is really irritating. This whole damn situation is irritating. And he seems to get a cheap thrill from riling me up.
