Page 2 of Watched

Dad: Dress appropriately and meet me here at 5 tomorrow night. Bring your brother.

Searching the location on my laptop, I turn to Blade. “Apparently, we’re attending a premier league soccer game.”

“You,” he corrects. “I’m not sitting through that bullshit.” He leans back, inspecting the newest photo on Alexa’s Instagram.

From what I can see, she’s posed in a bathroom mirror at a familiar nightclub with her best friend, Lakely. Her golden hair is slicked back in a high pony, body clad in a short red dress.

“The fuck are you wearing? That’s not a dress,” he mutters at the screen.

She’s my ex, and even I’m not that obsessed.

“He asked for you too,” I say, trying to coax his attention.

“If he wants me there, he can come talk to me himself…alone.”

I watch his forefinger and thumb rub together, his right knee bouncing erratically.

Three…two…one.

I sip my beer as he launches his phone into the brick wall, the remnants falling to the wooden desk before us. That’s phone number three this week.

“I need you,” he grits, kicking his chair back and spinning mine to face him.

He looms above me, eyes wild, chest heaving beneath the black material of his hoodie. Taking another drag, I blow the smoke in his face. “Get on your knees and suck me, and then you can fuck me.”

His hand wraps around my throat, pulling me up from my chair. I lift my beer, which is quickly snatched, the glass and liquid meeting the same destructive demise as his phone.

“Rain—” he warns, fingertips digging deeper into my skin.

Despite the crushing of my windpipe and the stars forming in my vision from the lack of oxygen to my precious brain, I narrow my eyes. “You’re this worked up over a picture?”

My breath hitches at the feel of his covering my lips. “I fucking need you, Rain.”

I shouldn’t encourage whatever fucked up thing is happening between us, but I either enjoy it or start a fight I know I won’t win without a weapon. There’s shattered glass beside me—I could use that.

Choices, choices.

His lips crush mine as he pulls at my belt, making my decision for me.

Fuck it. I might as well enjoy this.

Chapter two

RAIN

Running my hands down my suit jacket to smooth it out, I flash my VIP pass to the security guard and step into the team’s box, immediately finding my reflection. Well, technically, I’m the reflection. When I was younger, I was proud to resemble my father, the same deep brown eyes, straight nose and proportionately slim face. Now, I wish nothing more than to, well, not.

I sigh and move through the crowd toward him.

He glances behind me, sliding a beer across the standing table. “Where’s Blade?”

“He said, and I quote, ‘if he wants me there, he can come talk to me himself…alone’.”

Dad sighs, drowning his irritation in alcohol, although I completely understand Blade’s refusal.

“I’m thinking about investing in this team, so don’t fuck up any connections I may need by spouting some smart-ass comment or a joke that isn’t funny,” Dad warns, and I refrain from rolling my eyes.

The crowd erupts around me in cheers and gasps, and I turn in search of the cause of sudden chaos. Short, loose blond curls move through the parted crowd before their owner steps onto the small stage. He turns to a woman holding two microphones, the name ASTON and the number eight on the back of his white soccer jersey, two black stripes defining his waist.