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“Crazy in bed, too, I bet.”

The blush that overtakes my face might as well be a wildfire. I’m engulfed by it.

Wesley giggles. “Good for you, Scoops.”

“That’s not the only reason I like him.”

“Why else do you like him? Other than the obvious.” She smirks.

How do I explain Khaos to someone that doesn’t know him? Yes, Khaos is good in bed. And yes, he is built like a god. But there’s so much more to him than meets the eye. I took one look at him and wrote him off. A loser, a lowlife, a criminal. Aside from his short stint in jail, he’s none of those things. Actually, I think underground fighting is illegal, so I guess he is a criminal…technically. He doesn’t behave like one though, at least not the stereotype the media perpetuates about criminals. He’s not scary, he’s not cruel, he’s not deceitful. He’s encouraging and gentle and insists on consent. Even cloaked in ink and scars, Khaos is more of a gentleman than most of the men currently strolling Littoral’s immaculate grounds.

“He makes me really, really happy,” is my response. It encompasses everything.

“All right, Redbreasts!” our coach calls. “Five minutes and we are walking out those doors!”

After our own finishing touches, we rush to help another couple girls with their bows.

As we line up, our poms, megaphones, and signs in hand, Coach starts her pep talk.

“This is the first game of the season, where we set the tone and we set it high. I want you light, I want you tight, I want you hype.”

I feel my adrenaline kicking in, my body bouncing in place from it.

“We are not just the side attraction, the supporting actor. We are the weather. We control the atmosphere. I want the crowd to feel like we’re fifty points ahead regardless of what the scoreboard says. Who are we?”

“Littoral!” we all shout back in unison.

“What are we?”

“Redbreasts!”

“Let’s go fly!”

Together, the team jogs out of the locker room into the sunlight in a sea of redbreast orange, white, and black, whooping and cheering, the sense of unity, purpose, and pride tangible.

We make our grand entrance into the stadium, assist in the players’ even grander entrance, then run over to our designated area on the sidelines in front of the home side.

The first person I notice is Khaos. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to spot him in the stands, but it’s impossible not to when he’s on the lawn, leaning against the fence that separates us from the fans.

He jerks a nod, saying, “What’s up, Silver?”

Grinning at him, I give my head a little shake. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t imagine him blending with everyone else—because he doesn’t. Whether he’s trying to or not, Khaos stands completely on his own. His dark jeans and an even darker tee somehow make his tattoos and closed-off expression appear that much more sinister. Yet I know he’s anything but. Under all that armor is a sweetheart. My sweetheart.

The second person to catch my eye is Guy. Why? Because that’s where my eyes are used to going. It’s a habit. One I haven’t kicked yet apparently. Outside one of the luxury boxes, my ex is standing with his arms crossed, looking down on everyone in attendance. Beside him is his father, an obnoxious crewneck tied around the shoulders of his Oxford as he grips that double-walled plastic tumbler of his with what I suspect is alcohol inside. It has his company’s logo on it and he’s never without it, like ever. He even drives with it and everything. And if that wasn’t pretentious enough, he also has the family’s King Charles spaniel, Gatsby, tucked against his ribs. They tote Gatsby everywhere as well, even to places a dog probably shouldn’t be. Not only will this crowd get louder and rowdier as the clock ticks down, there’ll be a firework show during halftime.

Whatever. The Humphrieses are not my concern anymore.

I just hope Guy’s dad doesn’t try to speak to me about what my mom did. I don’t have anything else to add to it, especially not an apology. His son humiliated me, so my mom retaliated in the only way that’d get through to a family like theirs—financially. It’s not exactly how I would handle things, but I don’t feel sorry for them either. The Humphrieses do look down on everyone, and not just from up in their box in the sky. They think they’re better than everybody—above them, above consequence.

I did, too, either because of their family’s influence, or my own. Or maybe I just wasn’t a very good person. I don’t know. But I do know I see the world more clearly now that I don’t have Guy Humphries and his massive ego blocking it from view.

Guy locks eyes with me, probably suffering from the same habit, and I have to command my body not to recoil as he glances down it. Focusing on my face again, he frowns before shifting his gaze to Khaos, the corners of his lips melting like hot caramel on an apple.

Rolling my eyes, I look away before Khaos can notice who has my attention.

With a vow to ignore Guy’s general area, I tune back into what I’m here for.

Atmosphere. I control the atmosphere. Not just in this stadium but in myself, too.