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That elicited a genuine laugh. Poor Teague. He was right—God help whoever was around Kris when she was drunk, hungry/angry, and craving random foods.
She glimpsed the hard set of Nate’s jaw over Teague’s shoulder. He was still staring at her like she’d killed his (nonexistent) dog.
Acting on pure instinct, she leaned over and kissed Teague on the cheek.
The position gave her an unobstructed view of Nate, who ignored whatever his father was saying to him in favor of upping the intensity of his glare. Displeasure rolled off him in waves, so thick and potent she could almost touch it.
“I’m going to assume that kiss wasn’t for my benefit,” Teague said wryly when Kris pulled back. “Did it work?”
On the field, the game started.
“It doesn’t matter.” Kris bit into her hot dog and watched the players’ smooth, coordinated movements. Skylar took possession of the ball and passed it to Lacey, who dribbled it further down the right sideline before kicking it to another teammate. “It’s pure testosterone on his part. Not jealousy.”
It was nice to see she could still rile him up, though.
Teague stretched, a deceptively casual move that allowed him to glance over his shoulder without making his intent obvious.
“I don’t know. He looks jealous to me.” Teague finished his stretch by draping an arm over Kris’s shoulder. The amusement in his voice deepened. “I’d bet my new surfboard that he would tear my head off if he got the chance.”
Kris smiled grimly. “You’re sweet, but let’s not talk about him tonight.”
Nate already took up too much space in her head, her heart, her life. Even though they were no longer together, memories of him lingered in her consciousness like a bad pop song that wouldn’t go away—only worse, because no amount of Spotify replays would solve the problem.
She could only rely on time and distraction.
Kris focused on the game and tried to ignore the green eyes burning a hole in her skin. She didn’t look behind her again, but shefelthim. His presence obliterated everything else around her.
Still, she tried.
The purpose of the camp’s exhibition game wasn’t to crown a winner. After all, the players had all attended the same summer camp and trained under the same coach. No, the game was an opportunity for them to show off their skills to the best college coaches in the country—the ones in charge of recruitment and deciding which up-and-coming talents were worth full-ride scholarships that could make some lucky girls’ academic and athletic dreams come true.
Nevertheless, the audience cheered as if they were watching the World Cup finals. Kris hated sports—the idea of running around on a field in the same clothes as everyone else, sweating and passing a ball around, was her version of hell—but toward the end of the night, even she got caught up in the excitement and thrill of it all.
“Go, Skylar!” she yelled, jumping in excitement when the blonde scored a goal that put her team one point ahead with two minutes to spare.
A male voice echoed her sentiment.
Kris made the mistake of looking to her right. Her gaze snagged on Nate’s, and they connected for one breathless, torturous eternity before she broke the bond and retook her seat. Her heart jumped all over the place—from excitement over Skylar’s goal or the brief sizzle of eye contact, she didn’t know.
“So much for not liking soccer,” Teague teased. He was on his fifth hot dog. The boy could eat like a horse.
“Shut up.”
The buzzer signaling the end of the game sounded, and the audience erupted into a mixture of cheers and disappointed groans.
Skylar’s team won, 4-3. Skylar had scored the winning goal.
Sure, the game wasn’t about winners and losers, but pride bloomed in Kris’s chest nonetheless. She and Teague joined the crowd pushing their way onto the field, and he placed a hand on the small of her back to guide her through the crush of people. It was the comforting gesture of a friend, not the possessive one of a lover.
Kris swore she heard a growl behind her.
“You’re blocking my way.” The smoke-and-whiskey voice contained noticeable tendrils of irritation.
She stiffened and glared over her shoulder at Nate.
Gone was the stoic but apologetic man from Saturday night. In its place was a crackling pillar of pent-up possession and fury. Nate’s expression made a thundercloud look cheerful by comparison.
“Who died and made you king? In case you can’t tell, there are people blocking us, too.” Her cool tone belied the warning bells raising their alarms throughout her body.Danger! Danger!
