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“It takes a moment of terror
to realize everything
that’s missing from your life.”
~ Logan Carrington
I can’t get her out of my mind. I’ve done everything I can to forget about her. Nonstop personal training from the crack of dawn. Then team training at the main fields. When training’s over, I exert myself at the gym. Then when night comes around, the exhaustion kills me.
And, repeat.
Day after day.
“I know you want to win, but don’t you think you’re pushing yourself too far?” Ash worries, stretching his legs before our game.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, raising my arms above my head and stretching my muscles.
“You haven’t been the same since we got back from the States. I think I know what your problem is.”
I raise my brow, wondering if he knows how hard I fucked his sister and that’s why I can’t sleep at night. If he knew the image of her lying beneath me is so ingrained in my memory that nothing else matters right now.
“You’re lonely. You haven’t fucked some good pussy and you’re on edge.”
I shrug, bored of his interrogation. With the ball at my feet, I shoot for the top right corner.
Fuck. I missed it by barely an inch.
“You never miss.” Ash panics under duress. “We’re going out tonight.”
“I’m not interested.”
“Not even another nurse?” He winks, positioning the ball in front of him.
“Maybe...” I play the idea in my head. “No, actually, I’m busy.”
He exhales, distracted by the whistle as Coach calls us in to begin our warm-ups.
We’re a strong team, and this close to winning our quarter-finals. Where our team let us down, Coach is quick to point the finger. Coach is an angry man, dedicated but unforgiving when it comes to mistakes. He repeatedly warns the both of us to pick up our game and not allow our personal lives to affect it whatsoever.
Ash proved himself—Alessandra’s not a distraction. She’s a nothing. Although she lives with us, she’s rarely home, and on occasions when they both are there they do separate things.
We finish on time and instead of hitting the gym, I stumble back home and lay in bed. Even when I try to relax, I think of her. The way her body melted underneath my touch and how her eyes begged me to fuck her hard. I couldn’t stop staring at her body, from her nice round tits that pinched perfectly between my fingers, to the smell of her sweet pussy.
She’s perfect in every fucking way.
And I hate that.
Yesterday had me weak. Coach drilled me for sloppy defending and even I knew something was off. I needed a release, and it began with an innocent text that ended up with her rubbing her clit and coming for me. I came three fucking times watching that video.
My dick’s red, raw, and stinging like a motherfucker with how hard I rubbed it out. I’ve never seen such a beautiful sight—wet, bare, and perfectly pink.
I wanted to call her and hear her voice, but I held back, reminding myself that we’re having fun. Playing this dangerous game of not wanting to be caught and standing on the ledge playing with fucking fire.
But all of it, everything, begins to eat away at me.
I couldn’t curb my jealousy when I saw an image of her on Instagram with Wesley, posted by Farrah Beaumont referring to their lunch date and how happily in love they are. I recall the moment vividly—punching the lamp beside me and seeing it smash to the floor in a million pieces. I didn’t expect to experience that type of jealousy, yet I did, and there’s no cure but to forget she even exists.
Ash was pumped that I agreed to go out on a double date. The nurse he s
