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I have to shake those thoughts away so I don’t get a hard-on and effectively get kicked out by the bunch of prudes.
My attention zeroes back on Bran, who seems to be doing well. He runs a lot from the attack to the defense, and he retrieves a lot of balls for his team. The crowd is buzzing when they score. Got to say it’s nottoobad. There’s obviously adrenaline going on.
Number ten, the one and only lotus flower, gets stifling attention from the other team’s defenders, who try to block him with every move. One of them pushes him and he falls as the referee announces a foul.
I jump to my feet. “Fuck that guy! Suck my dick.”
“Niko!” Jeremy clutches my arm and tries to shove me down.
That’s when I realize most of the people surrounding us are watching me as if I’m the personification of Lucifer himself. A lot of pearl-clutching happens, too.
I roll my eyes and sit down.
Jeremy, who doesn’t give a fuck about anyone, seems like he wants to apologize to our company or something equally crazy.
Bran doesn’t seem hurt. He recovers in a few seconds and resumes running all over the field.
My eyes track his every movement as I sit with my elbows on my knees and my hands forming a steeple at my chin.
He’s just so elegant.
So fucking beautiful.
The definition of second-best male beauty. The first is me.
“Isn’t that Landon King’s twin brother?” Jeremy asks.
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Might want to go back to sleep,” I say, still watching Bran.
“The one you wanted to join the Heathens?”
“It was a good idea.”
“More like the worst. Is there a reason why we’re watching him?”
“Because he’s Landon’s brother. Need to keep an eye on the enemy or some shit.”
“You don’t look at him like he’s an enemy.”
I’m going to hate-fuck him so that’s considered on the list.
“Shush, Jer. You’re like an annoying buzzing bee that won’t go away.”
“Jeez, thanks.”
“Anytime, we’re bros.”
I don’t hear what Jer says, because Bran recovers the ball from the defense, runs to the attack, erasing a few players in his path, and then passes the ball to the one who scores.
“Yes! Get those fucking bitches,” I cheer, laughing and ignoring the lady in front of me, who’s covering her son’s ears.
My smile disappears when Clara jumps and screams, “That’s my man! So proud of you, babe!”
My fingers wrap around the edges of the chair so tightly, I hear a cracking sound.
He’s not your man.
Definitely not your fuckingbabe.
