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Who at this very moment is with a girl, doing God only knows what things.
Well, I know too. God’s not the only one in the know here.
And every second I spend on these morons, he’s spending it with her.
“Now listen here,” Rocky goes. “Don’t try to play games when we both know you’re into me.”
I draw back, shocked. “What?”
“You’ve been smiling at me, flirting with me since the beginning.”
“Look, buddy.” I glare at him. “If I was flirting with you, you’d know. I’m quite the flirt, all right? My smiles were meant to be polite. That’s it. So again, can I go now?”
Anger crackles on his face which makes me roll my eyes. “Don’t be a fucking tease, all right?”
I stab a finger at him. “Why don’t you stop being a self-centered asshole first?”
His hand strikes from out of nowhere and grabs my wrist. “Don’t make me angry, Krista. You’re mine and —”
I’d say I don’t know what caused him to halt mid-speech and so abruptly at that, but I’d be lying.
Because I do know.
It’s the same thing that causes him to let go of my wrist. Again, abruptly. As he stares — him and Joe both actually — at something over my shoulder with wide eyes and an open mouth.
I want to turn around and look at it too.
Or rather him.
It’s a him.
Him.
But I’m frozen in my spot for some strange reason. And the word ‘frozen’ itself could mean that I’m cold. That I have a chill running down my spine. That I may be turning blue, my blood going icy.
It’s not true though.
Even though it’s February and technically winter, I feel what I felt that day.
At the soccer game.
I feel like the air has turned heavy and swollen. Humid. Like it does before a rainstorm. A fierce rainstorm that brings with it a thunder so loud and crackling, so bright and blinding that you have to cover your ears and clench your eyes shut. That you have to run and take cover, protect yourself from it.
Not me though.
I don’t want to take cover. I don’t want to run.
I want to tip my face up and open my mouth to drink it down.
I want to open my arms and let the lightning strike me.
Because I know it won’t hurt me. Nothing will.
I’m as charged up and electric as the thunderstorm. I’m as liquid and shapeless as the rain falling from the sky.
I’m heated with excitement and burning with thrill. And when the thunder actually strikes, I go up in flames.
“No,” a growl comes from behind me, “she’s mine.”
I spin around then.
I have to.
Because I have to see. I have to stare into the eye of the storm.
The dark and gleaming, angry eye of the storm.
And holy fuck, it’s beautiful.
He’s beautiful.
He’s more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen in my life. Than anything has a right to be.
Then, he switches his focus over to me. “You.”
His growl makes me clench my belly and whisper, “Yes.”
Those dark angry eyes darken further at my breathy reply. “Come.”
With that, he turns around and begins to walk away.
And I go.
Wherever he is going.
My brother’s teammate.
No, not a teammate but my brother’s rival. The one guy my brother hates to his core.
Ledger Thorne.
Chapter Two
My brother’s rival.
Yeah, did I forget to mention that?
If I did, here it is: Ledger Thorne is not only my brother’s teammate but also a rival.
Let me explain what it means.
So once upon a time, in a town called Bardstown, there were two soccer players: Reed Jackson, who also happens to be my big brother, and Ledger Thorne, the guy I’ve been obsessed with for the past week. They were both great in their own right. So great that they’d been given nicknames based on their playing styles: the Wild Mustang, because my brother is supposedly erratic and unpredictable on the soccer field and because he drives a white Mustang; and the Angry Thorn, because Ledger is known for his hotheadedness and his anger that he mostly keeps in check when on the field — mostly being the operative word — sticking to a very structured approach, and because his last name is Thorne.
They’ve been playing together for years now.
Always on the same team. And hence always on the same side.
However, instead of being friends or even cordial teammates, they are enemies.
They’re rivals. Adversaries. Foes.
Competitors.
No one knows how it all started, but what they do know is that the Angry Thorn, despite the name, values his cool head on the field. He’s the team captain, the authority, and he likes to set an example. Which doesn’t sit very well with the Wild Mustang, who probably also wanted to be a captain since they’re both equally good. Which means the Mustang does everything in his power to make the Thorn lose it on the field. Which in turn, doesn’t sit right with the Thorn — that he does in fact lose it because of a player on his team — and so the Thorn, as the captain, does everything in his power to make the Mustang’s life miserable off the field.
