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They absorb me into their huddle, patting me on the back. Even Trent and Sean seem happy to have me there.
“Good job cheering, Davis.” Bishop ruffles Devlin’s hair. “You should come to our official matches, too. You’re a good luck charm.”
I give him a strained laugh, feeling weird about being crushed in the middle of a huddle of tall soccer players. They all stink. It’s not nice and earthy like Devlin’s scent.
“I think you guys are fine without me. Don’t you win all the time?”
“Yeah, but not like that.” Bishop nods to Devlin. “I haven’t seen you play that way since JV. Like you gave a damn about winning.”
Devlin brushes him off. He breaks free of the huddle and walks away, leaving me in the middle of the herd of sweaty soccer players.
“Wait!” I push through the tangle of limbs and struggle to get out. I jog after Devlin to catch up. “Where are you going?”
“Shower.”
“Okay,” I drag out on a long syllable. “And—what you owe me?”
Devlin stops, cutting a heated look my way. “You want more?” He huffs out a sensual laugh, the curve of his mouth obscene when he sweeps his eyes over me. He grabs my wrist. “Fine, come to the showers. I’ll pin you against the tiles and have your screams echoing through the whole locker room.”
My entire face flames and my insides rearrange. What’s his problem? I did what he wanted.
“Stop being such a dick!” I yank my hand out of his tight grasp. Lowering my voice, I ask, “What about my money?”
The shift in Devlin’s expression is subtle, but I can see the way he shuts me out. I don’t get what his deal is, but somehow I’ve pissed him off.
“You’ll get paid,” he snarls, stalking away from me.
I watch his back retreat into the building, no longer caring that the short hem of the cheer skirt moves in the breeze.
Nineteen
Devlin
Hot water runs over my head, sluicing down my arms. They’re braced against the shower tile in the locker room, flexing with each harsh breath I drag into my lungs. The water doesn’t drown out the pounding rush of blood in my ears or distract from how hard my cock is.
I won’t touch myself while thinking about her.
My hands ball into fists. I beat one against the slick tile with a grunt.
“Fucking pest,” I mutter.
My cock throbs as soon as the words leave me. The kiss replays nonstop, bombarding me with Blair’s breathy sounds, the way she clung to me, and the rush of desire to devour her right there on the field in front of everyone.
I can still taste her on my lips.
I swipe the back of one hand across my mouth, ignoring the throb in my groin.
Once again, Blair made me forget about the game. While kissing her, I lost sight of the fact she only wants my money. It’s the damn lure she has all over again.
She’s skilled at invading my senses, undermining my plans, and intoxicating me with her clever whiskey-colored eyes.
I thought humiliating her with a kiss from her worst enemy would burn this little obsession from my system, but no. Instead, it thrived to life. This new curiosity is growing out of control now that I’ve had a taste of those plush fucking lips.
My cock jerks, the twisted little fucker too stupid to realize I have no intention of sinking to Blair’s level. I’ll never let her beat me. Not at the game I’m best known for.
“Yo, you dirty devil, I’m heading out if you’re not done jerking off,” Bishop calls.
“Fuck you,” I grouse, raising my voice above the shower.
