My hand slid up his chest, clinging to the fabric of his shirt, and his arm came around my waist, pulling me closer. The leather seat creaked under us as we angled toward each other, both of us doing a terrible job pretending we weren’t in a moving vehicle with someone else in the front seat.
I didn’t care.
His lips were warm, confident, and a little desperate. Like he’d been waiting for this—we’d been waiting for this—and now that it was happening, neither of us wanted to stop.
My heart thudded against my ribs. His fingers found my jaw, angling me closer, and the kiss turned deeper, hotter, tangled.
I forgot everything for a moment.
Where we were.
Why we were even in this car.
The only thing that mattered was the way Kieren kissed me like I was his. No cameras. No scripts. No pretending.
Just us.
By the time we finally pulled apart, breathing a little too fast, my lips felt swollen and my thoughts were a mess.
Kieren rested his forehead against mine, smiling in that quiet, private way he reserved just for me.
“Worth the wait,” he murmured.
I smiled back, even as my heart raced.
Yeah. It really, really was.
Chapter 30
Kieren
The locker room felt colder than it should’ve, considering we’d just come off the pitch.
Our away game in Minnesota had been a disaster—flat, sloppy, and downright embarrassing. Coach Lawson stalked back and forth like a lion ready to maul someone, and honestly, none of us were safe. But his eyes kept flicking in my direction, and I knew the rant wasn’t just about tactics.
“This isn’t Sunday league, boys,” he snapped, voice echoing off the tile. “You let them press us like amateurs. No discipline, no spine, no fucking fight.”
I sat at my locker, peeling off my sweat-drenched jersey, keeping my gaze low. I didn’t need to see their faces to feel it—my teammates were tense, tired… and half of them blamed me.
Not for the loss. For the distraction.
For the headlines. The drama. The chaos Ryder left in his wake—and the fact that my name had been dragged through the mud right alongside his before the league cleared it all.
I hadn’t touched the guy. Didn’t need to. But I hadn’t exactly kept my mouth shut either.
Coach’s voice cut through again. “Midfield was a ghost town. We gave the ball away like we were desperate to lose.”
My jaw clenched. I had given everything on that pitch. Ran until my lungs burned. Took the knocks and got back up. But no one saw that right now. All they saw was the fallout.
They saw him—the guy who made the team’s PR nightmare worse.
A locker slammed shut behind me. Another player—Luis, I think—muttered something in Spanish under his breath.
When Coach finally stormed out, the silence was deafening. Some guys left right away, not even bothering to shower. Others lingered just long enough to make a point—passing behind me without a word, without a glance.
I sat there, unmoving, towel draped over my shoulders.
I didn’t care what the media thought. I could handle that heat.
