I sneak around the back of the gym, hugging the brick wall and keeping my head down.The metal of the bleachers is hot against my hand as I climb, each step ringing louder than the last.I reach the top and settle down, tucking my knees in and curling my arms around them.
I see Reece already on the field, helmet tucked under one arm, sweat darkening the collar of his practice jersey.Coach paces in front of them, barking orders, before they move.Drills begin, feet hit the turf, whistles pierce the air.Reece is faster.Meaner.Controlled in a way that feels almost dangerous.
His body is a weapon.Every move is precise and brutal.
I stay tucked away here in the shadows, watching.There was a time I thought his smirk was arrogance.That cocky tilt of his mouth, the kind that screamed I-own-this-place and knew exactly how handsome he was while doing it.But now?I believe it’s the only armor he has.A lifeline.That smirk is the only thing holding him together and preventing him from falling apart.
They run another drill.Then another.Finally, Coach calls it a day.The team begins to scatter, helmets off, towels over their shoulders, slapping each other on the back.But Reece doesn’t move.He stays put.Drops his helmet at his feet and starts running.
One lap.
Two.
Three.
His sweat clings to him.He drags the hem of his shirt up and wipes his face—and Jesus.My breath stutters.
Those abs.That body.All tan skin, sharp lines, and muscles so tight it makes my mouth go dry.Every inch of him reminds me of what I had, what I walked away from, and yet I still can’t stop staring.
I know every inch of that body.Every scar, every freckle.I know how his hands feel pressed against my thighs and on the front of my neck when he fucked me, how his mouth sounds when he’s groaning against my skin.I know the way he kisses—hard, hungry, as if he’s starving for something he doesn’t think he deserves.I know how he fucks, and how he destroys what he claims to care about.
I shouldn’t be here watching.
My heart shouldn’t be fluttering and swelling for a boy who used me for a bet and made my world collapse without blinking.
But I don’t move because deep down, beneath all the anger and shame, I am still that girl who wants him.
He bends at the waist, hands resting on his knees, each breath coming out rough and uneven, chest rising and falling.He rolls his shoulders back and tilts his face toward the sky, mouth parted, breathing heavily.
Then he jogs.
A few more steps.
Slower now as if his body is slowly winding down.
And then he looks up.
Right at me.
Fuck.
The shift happens instantly.The moment his eyes meet mine, the entire damn world shrinks to just us.That stupid invisible wire between us tightens until I can’t breathe.
My pulse races, my stomach tightens, and every part of me screams to turn around and run.
But I don’t.
My legs tremble as I get up.I walk down the bleachers, step by step, eyes fixed on his, hating that part of me that still craves that stupid smirk and the way he used to call me Red.
He stands there.His hair’s a mess, damp at the edges, sticking to his forehead.His lips are parted, breath still rough.He looks beautiful in that fucked-up, raw, Reece Wilson way.Like a sin I’ve already committed and would do again just to feel something that real.
I stop a few feet away.Close enough to feel the heat rolling off his skin.
My fingers twitch at my sides, muscle memory firing off as it recalls his mouth on my neck.
He doesn’t speak.
He just stands there, chest rising and falling, dark eyes locked on mine.His gaze then slips to my mouth, quick but obvious.My pulse stammers and my knees start to wobble.
