“Nice one, Whitaker!”
My lungs burned and my heart hammered so hard it almost hurt but … that felt good.
Like rugby-good.
Like home-good.
I jogged toward the sideline, chewing on my mouthguard. For a moment, I wished Tori could have seen it.
She would probably have thrown a snarky comment my way and pretended she wasn’t impressed, but her eyes would have told me everything I needed to know.
God help me, but I wanted to earn that look again.
In between plays, I sat on the bench wiping sweat off my face when my mind wandered, pulling my focus away from the game.
I imagined Tori watching from the stands, her arms crossed and those green eyes sharply scrutinizing my performance. Pretending she didn’t care, but leaning forward every time I got near the ball.
Her crazy work schedule hadn’t allowed her to come to any of my home games yet. Yes, I’d asked, but I wasn’t going to be a dick about it and I accepted her work came first. Given that, there was zero chance she’d be able to come to an away game.
Still, I couldn’t help but hope she might be watching the broadcast before her shift or checking the score on her phone.
A bloke could dream, right?
I imagined texting her after.
See that tackle? All thanks to your drills, Love.
She’d scowl at me for calling her that, but she’d secretly love it.
Then deeper stuff crept in.
Stuff I shouldn't be thinking about.
What if we were together?
If she came home with me…
Hell, last night I actually caught myself wondering what it’d take to convince her to build a life with me athome. A house. Maybe a dog. Kids with her eyes and my height.
Idiotic, possessive thoughts. Dangerous thoughts of knocking her up to make her mine. If I got her pregnant, she’d surely come with me.
I blinked, stunned by my own thoughts. Wow, this was seriously fucked up. Where the hell did that come from?!
Then again, was it really so far off, considering what turns me on? I’d never come so hard as I’d done when I told her I was going to fill her up and shot my load deep inside her.
Breeding her up sounded like a delicious solution to my problem.
Jesus fucking Christ, I was fucked.
I shook my head hard, trying to get my head back in the game. There’d be time for those kinds of daydreams later. Somehow I doubted they’d leave me alone any time soon.
Coach tapped my helmet. “Offense. Heavy set.”
Right. Time to switch roles.
I jogged out and lined up at tight end. The turf radiated leftover heat through my cleats as the sun set behind the stadium in a wash of molten gold.
The roar of the crowd had blurred into a dull, rhythmic thunder. My breath fogged up once as the eveningtemperature dropped and the air tightened around us with that electric stillness before the snap.
