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“You’ve been different lately. You’ve been spending more time by yourself. At least I assume it’s by yourself, because you’re not around the other guys and you take longer than usual to respond to your texts. And I haven’t seen you with any girls in months. That’s not like you.”
“Just been, you know, studying more, I guess. Hitting up the library after classes.” Another lie.
I try to smooth my conscience by telling myself that I’m not just lying to him for my sake, but for his, too. At least if what’s going on between Zoey and I is something I keep to myself, then I’m the only one who’ll suffer any blowback if Coach does somehow find out.
If any of the other guys are in on the secret, Coach could come down hard on them, too. I might want Zoey bad enough to risk my future, but I can’t ask any of my teammates to risk theirs by letting them in on this secret and asking that they keep it for me.
Hunter’s shoulders dip. “If you say so.” It’s clear that he’s not at all convinced; but thankfully, he seems done prodding me over it. At least for now.
As I dig into my Chicken Lo Mein, a sort of dread pools in my stomach as a very unwelcome thought intrudes into my mind: maybe I won’t have to keep things with Zoey a secret for long.
She’s a smart girl. A hell of a lot smarter than I am. If I know we’re playing with fire, so does she—and if one of us is going to come to our senses first, no doubt it’ll be her.
I know I want her too damn bad to stop what we’re doing. But I can’t expect Zoey to continue to be as reckless as I am.
I’ve always known we had to have an expiration date. It’s just a matter of time before she decides we’ve arrived at it.
22
ZOEY
It’s a chilly and windy day. Good thing I’m wearing layers: overtop my sweater, I have on a Hot Shots jersey.
Whose? Not Liam’s.
I’m wearing one of his teammate’s jerseys, heading towards Psych class. I took his advice and wore Walsh’s this time.
The first time I slipped on one of his teammate’s jerseys, I really did have in mind throwing people off our scent. Would anyone even suspect something’s going on between us if I kept wearing other players’ jerseys?
But now that I’ve seen the way he looks at me when another man’s name is splayed across my back, I’ve kept up the routine for a different reason—I like the way he looks at me when he’s jealous.
I slide into my seat next to him. “Hey, Liam,” I say, casual as can be.
“Hey, Zo—” my name dies on his lips as he turns towards me.
I keep my eyes on my desk as I bring out my notebook and pens from my bookbag. I press my lips together to keep the naughty smile that threatens to take over my face at bay.
His gaze always feels hot on my skin; it has since the very first time he laid eyes on me. But when he looks at me when I have another man’s jersey on my back, it’s a different kind of heat. It’s a searing, smoldering heat laced with a possessive intensity.
I turn to look at him, trying to fix an innocent expression on my face. When I see his low brow, the dark look in his hooded eyes, his popping jaw, his plush lips almost snarling as he stares at the number printed on the jersey—the number that doesn’t belong to him—my thighs clench tight.
“Something wrong?” I ask him, a mocking lilt in my voice.
He lets out a long, jagged breath, his puffed-out chest deflating. Then, he chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re playing with fire, Zoey,” he whispers in a raspy voice.
“Why, whatever could you mean?” I feign obliviousness, turning my attention back to my notes as our professor enters the room.
If I’m playing with fire, I can’t wait to see how Liam burns me.
After class, I hurry up to make sure I walk out of the room ahead of him. Once I’m in the hallway, I slow down. I want him to come out the door and see the name that isn’t his written on my back.
Knowing that something as silly and simple as wearing another man’s jersey can drive him insane with jealousy, making his muscles coil with tension and sparking a fire in his emerald eyes, makes me feel … powerful. I like it.
I’m pretty sure I’m also going to like what his response will be next time we’re alone together now that I’ve built up all this possessiveness in him. Maybe I’ll wear this same jersey later this week when I’ll have the apartment to myself—he’ll probably rip the jersey right off my body.
Now that, I like the sound of.
My heart jumps into my chest as Liam quickly walks by me, marching forward with a purpose, growling roughly as he passes, “Follow me.”
