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For Adler Beck, who’s leaning against the advertisement-splashed divider that surrounds the perimeter of the field. Watching our game with an inscrutable expression and crossed arms.
Play resumes in our scrimmage. Time always passes differently when I’m playing soccer, rushing by in measures of kicks and sprints rather than seconds and minutes. I score two more goals before Coach Weber blows her whistle, signaling the end of this morning’s session.
“Nice job, everyone. Get changed, then meet out front for the team lunch.”
“Team lunch?” I whisper to Ellie as we head back toward the tunnel. All I want is a shower and maybe some ice cream. Pretty sure any goodwill with the yellow team has already faded. If anything, there’s more animosity aimed my way now that I’ve proven I’m a threat.
“Forget about lunch,” she says. “You kicked ass, girl!”
I smirk. “What did you expect?” I ask her, pulling my pinny over my head and tossing it in the hamper outside the locker room. “Adler Beck is not the only one who lives up to the hype.”
“Um, speaking of which, I saw him staring at you,” Ellie tells me as I stop at the water fountain.
There’s a weird squeeze in my chest, and I immediately regret mentioning him.
“Spectators tend to watch the player with the ball,” I reply as nonchalantly as I can.
“I’m just saying. You’re totally his type.”
“What type is that?”
“Gorgeous.”
I shrug off her compliment. “I’m just here to play soccer.” The words are assured. Based on Ellie’s disappointed sigh, she believes me.
I wish I was as certain. I didn’t need Ellie to tell me Beck was watching me; I noticed it myself. Concerning, considering that means my focus wasn’t fully on the scrimmage the way it should have been.
Ellie continues into the locker room to change, while I finish filling my water bottle. I take a long sip, glance up, and then still.
Beck is standing at the opposite end of the hallway, his intense gaze aimed straight at me. My body instantly reacts, my stomach clenching and my heart rate accelerating. He nods to the left, then opens the doorway there and walks inside.
I glance around. The rest of the girls are already in the locker room, and I think Coach Weber and the rest of the staff are still out on the pitch cleaning up. There’s no one around.
I suck in deep breaths as I walk down the hallway, second-guessing each step. I haven’t texted Beck since he gave me his number, because I meant what I told Ellie: I’m here for soccer. Because I don’t do distractions. Or I didn’t do distractions, I guess I should say. Because I’m willingly walking toward one right now.
The space I step into is some sort of equipment room. It’s tidy but tiny, the guy leaning against the wall immediately drawing all of my focus.
“Nice office.”
He straightens as soon as I speak, taking a step toward me. The expression on his face scares me a little. It’s the same animation and ferocity I noticed when we played together, except there’s no soccer ball in sight. Worse than Beck’s reaction is mine. The way my equilibrium shifts like the ground beneath me is suddenly unsteady. The way the throbbing ache between my thighs is making me wet.
“Enjoy the show?” I smirk, throwing some bluster up like a shield.
He says nothing, just takes another step closer. Another. And another. Until the ridges of my spine are pressed against the cold cinderblock wall.
Beck kisses me with no preamble. No flirting. No shots. He kisses me like this is just something we do, his hot, firm body covering mine and his talented tongue invading my mouth.
And I surrender, my muscles relaxing even as awareness hums. Even as the ache of arousal turns into a persistent, almost painful pulse.
His lips leave mine to trail down my neck, his tongue swiping across sensitive skin.
“I guess that’s a yes,” I manage to gasp.
His chuckle is low and throaty, raising goosebumps on my arms.
“Do you know what I was thinking about when I was watching you play?” he asks. His hands are flirting with the hem of my shirt, making it really hard to think straight.
“World peace and what you ate for breakfast?”
