“You were the only loser left.” He knocks his elbow into mine to let me know he’s joking.
“Gee, thanks.” Luckily, a heart rate and pulse increasing in excitement isn’t something outwardly obvious, because if it were then my face would be screaming out loud about how his simple movement makes me want to jump on top of this desk and do a little celebration dance. Ryne looks over at me and shakes his head. Maybe it is visible.
“Anyway, let’s pick a topic before Carter comes back around and realizes we still don’t have one.”
I nod and we get to work, alternating between doing a quick Google search to see if a particular topic has been overused and writing the good ideas down on a piece of paper between the two of us. I glance over at the last idea he wrote down. Someone bumps into my chair and Ryne snaps out, “watch it, asshole.”
I look over my shoulder and Nick Callahan rolls his eyes at Ryne and flips him off as he walks away. Ryne mutters under his breath.
“What?”
“I said, ‘Nick the Dick.’”
“Nick the Dick?”
Ryne nods slowly. “It’s Roman’s nickname for him.”
Why am I not surprised? “Why does Roman call him that?”
“They have a bit of a rough history.”
I glance behind me to the back corner of the room where Nick now sits. “Pity. He’s pretty hot.” I flash a wide smile at Ryne that deepens as his eyes darken and he stares at me like I’m a target and he’s aiming for a bullseye. Then his face relaxes and he shrugs.
“That he is.”
Well, that backfired.
Jealousy flares hot and bright inside me and Ryne smirks and shakes his head. “All right, let’s try to finish this part up before class ends.”
I scoot closer to him and bring one leg up to tuck under my butt. My leg juts out toward Ryne. He repositions himself too, mirroring my pose, and our legs brush against each other. We stay that way the rest of class. It’s a small gesture, just our knees touching and there are two layers of material between, but it’s another one of those tiny changes that feels monumentally huge.
21
Ryne
Afew days later I’m in the locker room getting changed for practice. Most of the guys are already out on the field. It’s just Dacen and I left now, and when I glance over at him, a low moan slips from my lips as he pulls his shirt off and tosses it on the bench. I can’t help it. He’s all lean muscle but he’s got abs for freaking days.
“Did you say something?” His mouth draws up into a knowing smirk. Those dimples of his deepen the longer I scowl at him.
I can’t decide which I want more right now: to flip him off for the sass, or shove him down onto the bench and kiss the smirk right off his face. I also kinda wanna lick my way around his stomach, following the lines and grooves like a map to see where they lead. Instead of doing any of those things, I slam my locker door shut and grab my water bottle.
“Let’s go. Coach is waiting.”
* * *
“Becker,come on! Eyes up! This isn’t nap-time.” Coach shouts at Dacen and my footing on the ball falters.
“Shit.” I curse under my breath and wipe the sweat off my forehead with one arm as I run down the field after Landon, who’d stolen the ball from me while I was distracted.
“Sutton, what the hell was that!” Coach yells as I run past him. “Focus!”
I grit my teeth and run harder. Landon dribbles through and around the guys, heading for the goal, but thankfully Tyler, our goalie, is a badass sweeper keeper with a ‘take no prisoners’ attitude. This approach is what had gotten him dubbed Reaper back when we were freshmen. That and his last name. He’s already dashed off the goal line and slipped into the throes of our defense. He cuts off Landon’s pass attempt to Andy and then makes a perfectly precise pass over to Jeremy. I pivot and head in the other direction since we’re back in possession of the ball and Jeremy dribbles toward the other goal. So on and so forth goes the scrimmage until practice is over.
I’m gulping water when we’re done and stretching out my legs when Coach pops up in my peripheral vision. My muscles tense as he heads in my direction.
“Sutton.” Coach King’s hand comes down on my shoulder. “I don’t know what's been going on with you lately, but I’d really like for my best wingback to get his head back in the game. What’s the problem?”
My chest deflates. His face is full of concern but he’s also clearly irritated. It’s apparent in the tense set of his brow and the firm line of his lips as he waits for me to answer. I open my mouth but no words come and he sighs.
