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Elliot shoves me toward the door the second Coach demands we do so. And as if they’ve fucking planned it, he and Theo stay between Oak and me until we have little choice but to get into position.
The heat of his stare burns into me, but I still refuse to give him my attention.
Despite what Coach said about the Bulldogs, the game is a piece of piss. They could have smashed them even if I decided not to show my face and spend the rest of my night between Olivia’s thighs.
I successfully manage to stay the hell away from Oak as we celebrate out on the pitch while our home crowd goes wild.
I search the stands, desperate to see if Olivia followed orders and showed her face, but I don’t spot her in the crowd.
Disappointment tugs at my insides, but I refuse to dwell on it.
“You were on fucking fire, man,” Theo says, throwing his arm around my shoulders as we make our way to the locker room. “The girls are gonna be all over you for that performance.”
“Here’s fucking hoping.”
The second we turn the corner, he’s there waiting for me, his eyes narrowed on me.
The rest of the team is lingering behind us, waiting for us to shower so they can get cleaned up for the party.
“Not here, man,” Elliot instructs, shoving Oak in the direction of his locker.
“You’d better have some fucking good evidence to prove his suspicions wrong about where you were and how you got those scratches up your back, or he’s going to fucking kill you,” Theo warns ominously in my ear.
“I’m not fucking scared of Oak.”
“Clearly not, if you’ve been doing what we think you’ve been doing.”
“Shut your fucking mouth, Ashworth,” I bark, stripping out of my kit and marching toward the showers, all the while wondering how well my girl scratched up my back earlier.
Nothing is said as the four of us shower. Oak might be gunning for me, but he’s still a good little Heir who will follow Elliot’s orders to keep this private.
All that changes when we’re halfway back toward the Chapel and Oak turns on me.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” he booms, his palms slamming down on my chest. “Tell me I’m fucking wrong and the girl’s perfume you turned up stinking of didn’t belong to my fucking sister.”
I swallow harshly but don’t say anything.
“I swear to fucking God, Whitfield. If you don’t start talking, then I’m going to assume she was the one who mauled your back and fucking end you for this.”
11
OLIVIA
Ichew my thumb as I wander toward the Chapel.
I’d gone to the game—I couldn’t stay away if I tried. Not after what had happened with Reese. I could still feel his touch, hear his filthy, possessive words as he fucked me into oblivion. God, the way he handled me… I should have hated it, but I didn’t.
Because I’m so gone for him. And maybe it makes me a fool, maybe I’m asking for heartache and disappointment, but he feels it too.
I know he does.
Coming to the Chapel is probably a really bad idea. But I need to see him, and I need to try and fix things with Oakley.
The second I turn the corner, though, their raised voices stop me in my tracks.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” Oakley booms, his palms slamming down on Reese’s chest. “Tell me I’m fucking wrong and the girl’s perfume you turned up stinking of didn’t belong to my fucking sister.”
Crap. I duck behind the building, my heart racing in my chest.
