by Alley Ciz
“Careful…” Hands curl around my hips and he continues to step forward until my back comes in contact with the wall. “I do have a game to play.” The husky timbre of his voice tells me how disappointed he is with this fact.
I run my hands over his shoulder pads, traveling across his chest then down his stomach, fanning my fingers along the muscles flexing under my touch. “After?” My question is full of promise as I peer at him from beneath my lashes.
“Without a doubt, I’ll be tasting your rainbow later, Skittles.”
The flush of heat spreading throughout my body has nothing to do with the multiple layers I have on and everything to do with his corny, dirty words.
“Promises, promises.” I walk my fingers back up his body, hooking one in the V of his jersey’s collar and pushing onto my toes. Before I can close the gap between us, Mase pulls back, stepping away until a foot of space separates us.
“Show me.” He wiggles a finger in front of my chest.
I could play dumb, could feign having no idea what he wants, but I’m not that mean. Well…maybe a little bit. I did refuse to text him a picture of my shirt earlier like I typically do, but is it really so wrong to want to witness his reaction in person?
Doesn’t mean I’m not going to draw this out as much as I can.
I turn to give him my back, gathering my hair in one hand and pulling it over a shoulder so the NOVA #87 on the back of my Black Out hoodie is displayed in all its claimed-by-the-caveman glory.
“Kay,” Mase warns.
Ooo, someone is all extra growly today. I like it.
I bite down on my lip to hold in my smirk as I spin back around.
His intense stare is like a physical caress. He starts at the top of my black waffle pom beanie, stopping briefly at the flesh pinched between my teeth, the widening at the corners of his eyes giving away how much he wants to be the one doing the biting. He continues his downward inspection, tongue peeking out to stroke across his lower lip as he takes in the way my black fleece-lined leggings hug my legs and down to the tips of my insulated tall black Hunter boots.
It’s an effort to swallow as his burning gaze locks onto where my fingers worry the hem of my—his—hoodie.
Layer by layer, I lift the sweatshirt then the thick wool sweater beneath it until…finally…I reveal the My heart is out on that field shirt I had made. There’s also a football with a heart and an 87 in the middle.
I don’t blink, my eyes stinging as they dry out, unable to look away. How can I when he brings a thumb up to stroke across his lower lip? I mean come on! He already looks like a wet football god dream; does he really have to pull out a move straight from the hot guy handbook?
“And mine’s in the fucking stands.” His voice comes out all gravelly as he lunges toward me. Hands cup my ass as he scoops me into his arms, the impact of my back slamming into the wall as he presses me against it dissolving away as his mouth claims mine.
He sucks my bottom lip into his mouth, his tongue licking across the spot my teeth abused. I sigh, running my fingers over the short hairs on the back of his head.
My legs squeeze for leverage while his hands tunnel under my layers, a sound of frustration rumbling deep in his throat when he meets the resistance of my skintight Under Amour shirt. “Why do you have on so many damn layers?”
I smirk against his mouth before dropping my head back to rest against the painted cinderblock behind me. “Well, you see…” I trace along the base of his skull. “I have this boyfriend.”
“Tell me more.”
I poke at the dimple daring to come out and play.
“Well…he plays football, and he likes to see me sitting in the stands behind his team’s bench. So, when it’s butt-ass cold outside, layers are a requirement if I’m going to fend off frostbite to cheer him on.”
“Smartass.” I yelp when he pinches one of my butt cheeks. “It’s not that cold out.”
“It’s cold enough.” I wave a gloved hand in his face.
“I’m sure he appreciates the sacrifice.”
“So he tells me.” I smirk, playing along, sobering when his forehead comes down to rest against mine.
“Sounds like a lucky guy to have you cheering him on from the stands through such treacherous conditions.”
“He is.” My eyes cross in an effort to maintain eye contact as our foreheads press together.
“You two are giving me a toothache.” Carter’s voice echoes down the tunnel.
“Shut it, King,” I volley back. “You’re supposed to be a silent chaperone.”
Calloused hands come up to cradle my face, bringing me back to the moment. “I love you, baby,” Mase says, dropping all pretense of the game we’ve been playing and causing my heart to turn over, showing its soft under belly.
I reach up to wrap my hands around his wrists as they hold us in place. “I love you too.”
Our eyes lock, transmitting all the love and lust we feel for each other.
“Isn’t this sweet?”
This time, the voice we hear is a sneer, not a tease, and it comes from my right, not my left—not King. It is familiar, though, and unwelcome…a voice that spells trouble.
Instinctively, I tighten both my arms and legs around Mase in an attempt to keep him in place.
“Parker.” Mason’s voice is venomous.
Nothing good can come from this—nothing.
I know how Liam thinks. This isn’t some chance encounter. He wasn’t getting the reaction he wanted on social media or from sending Chrissy/Tina to my dorm, so he purposely came looking for us to start something. Maybe he thinks he can draw Mase into a fight and get him benched for the game; I don’t know.
Behind me, footsteps rush in our direction, but I don’t dare take my eyes off Liam to check if it’s King. The former is coiled tight like a snake, waiting to strike.
“You know, Parker…” King tuts, cool as a cucumber, ready to face down a challenge like this is your typical Saturday night. Who knows, with his reputation, it might be. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him round Mase and move so he’s positioned between us and Liam. “I would have thought you’d know better than to mess with one of my people.” King shakes his head like a disappointed parent. “Guess you took one too many hits to the head on the football field.”
Liam scoffs, his face twisting, thrusting an arm out to point at me aggressively. That’s a mistake. “She’s not Royalty.” That’s another mistake.
A sense of foreboding like someone walking across my grave washes over me as Liam’s head tilts to the left in consideration.
“TRAVIS!” I shout as loud as I possibly can, my lungs screaming with the effort, my vocal cords vibrating like razor wire. I pray he can hear me over the noise inside the locker room.
Mase’s grip on my butt turns punishing as my yell brings Liam’s attention onto me.
The red doors to the locker room push open with a, “What’s with the full na—” Trav’s words cut off as the clack of his cleats comes to a stop.
Using every ounce of strength in my thighs, I rise to see over the curve of Mase’s shoulder pads and meet Trav’s worried gaze as he stands with the door propped open with a foot. “Get. The. Guys.”
A hawk cry rips through the air, bringing what looks like most of the Hawks’ roster to the door. Why do I feel like it’s not going to be enough?
Liam clicks his tongue, too stupid or too cocky to heed the precarious situation he’s found himself in. “Unless…” His gaze bounces between where I’m clinging to Mase like a koala and King. “Is Nova not the only one sampling my leftovers? Is the football princess bending the knee for your Royals and doing more than kissing the ring?”
A hush falls over the tunnel while every muscle of Mase’s body that I’m in contact with seizes.
With a calm reminiscent of the eye of a hurricane, he slides his hands down the backs of my thighs, hooking them under my knees to unwrap my legs and lower me to the ground. He tries to move me behind him
, to safety.
I clutch at the front of his jersey. While I can appreciate the instinct to protect me, what he fails to realize is I feel the same toward him.
Unfortunately, Mason is literally twice my size, and I’m dragged with each stomp he takes toward Liam.
King plants himself in front of us, and Trav’s arms lock around Mase’s neck while Kev and Alex flank our sides.
“Don’t,” Trav says through gritted teeth as we struggle to restrain Mason.
“The fuck you say about my girl?” I’ve never heard him sound so feral.
“Mase”—I flatten my palms, dig my heels into the floor for traction, and push—“he’s not worth it,” I plead.
He struggles against the arms binding him. “He. Doesn’t. Get. To. Talk. About. You. Like. That.”
“Please.” Push. Step. “Mase.” Push. Step. “This is what he wants.”
I’m sweating by the time we manage to back him into the locker room, my beanie falling to the ground in the process.
“That fucker needs to be taught a lesson.”
His teammates maintain their hold on him while I reach up to cup his face in my hands.
“He’s not worth it,” I insist, but he won’t look at me. “Please.” I try tugging on his ears—no dice. “Please.” Finally he drops his gaze to me, his pupils dilated in banked fury.
With a jerk of his chin, he’s released, and the next second I’m crushed to his chest, my forehead knocking against the hard plastic of his chest protector.
“Anyone want to tell me what all the commotion is about?” Coach Knight bellows as he pushes through a cluster of players.
“Nothing,” Trav answers for the group. “It’s handled, Coach.”
“Kayla.” Coach Knight comes to a stop when he spots me in the mix. “You can’t be in here.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” I wiggle out of Mase’s hold. “I was just leaving.” I turn for the door.
“The fuck you are.” Mase tugs me by the hand, preventing my exit. He’s beyond pissed. He’s dropping F-bombs left and right, a vein pulses in his temple, and his chest is heaving like he just ran a ninety-yard touchdown.
“It’s fine.” I show him the text that came through from King. “He’s gone.”
One, one stride is all it takes for Mase to be in front of me, no thought to our audience made up of his teammates, a hand curling around the back of my neck. This is my possessive caveman, and I have to push onto my toes under the strength of his hold.
“Kay.” His lashes fan across his cheeks as he closes his eyes, breathing me in.
“I know, Caveman.” I don’t need to hear the words to know what he’s thinking, what he’s struggling to articulate. “Now use it and go kick some Nittany Lion ass.”
Hawk cries answer my words and are the soundtrack behind the gentle kiss I place on the underside of Mase’s scruffy jaw.
I hurry out of the room to meet King, and something tells me this is far from over.
#Chapter58
The entrance tunnel echoes with the final strains of the school’s fight song, my body vibrating with each beat of the drumline’s bass drums. The adrenaline I typically get before a game has nothing on the murderous rage rolling through me from my encounter with Liam Parker.
I already wanted to kick his ass, but clearly this motherfucker has a death wish coming at my girl like that. My hands fist at my sides, the knuckles cracking at the memory of his vile bullshit.
“You straight, man?” Trav asks, clapping a hand on my shoulder.
I nod even though I’m not. “This isn’t over.” My voice is eerily calm compared to the riot of emotions coursing through my body.
“Fuck no.” He holds out a fist and I bump it twice. “But after.” He points toward the field with his helmet, a reminder to keep my head in the game.
“After,” I promise.
The palpable energy only the Black Out game can bring bleeds into the tunnel as the intro video flips over to the live feed, AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” blaring through the speakers. With a collective hawk cry, the team rushes out to take the field.
The scent of sulfur hangs in the air from the fireworks set off prior to our entrance, a fog of white smoke falling over the crowd as we run through the path created by the band.
The stadium is a sea of black, the creepy dancing shadows almost making it seem empty except for the uproarious cheers of tens of thousands of Hawks fans.
Jogging over to our bench with the rest of my teammates, I round it and take a moment to find Kay in the stands. Typically I wait until after the coin toss to search her out, but I need eyes on her, as if seeing her in her seat is all I need to reassure me she’s safe.
Some of my tension eases, my shoulders loosening when I catch sight of her bright smile and shy wave. With a quick thump of my hand over my heart and a point at her, I run to join the other captains for the coin toss.
Hand in hand, Trav, Alex, Kev, and I make our way out to the fifty where the referee and camera wait. My lip curls when I see Liam amongst the white jerseys walking out with those chosen to represent Penn State.
At my left, Kev hums the funeral march, and on my right, Trav gives the hand he’s holding a Keep your head squeeze.
“Tell me, Nova”—Liam’s teeth flash in a smile behind the faceguard of his helmet—“how bad did my sloppy seconds fall apart after I was gone? She may be a football princess, but she sure as shit is a drama queen.”
I lunge forward only to be jerked backward by my friends. I’m seething, heart racing, breathing heavy.
The referee steps between us, commemorative coin in hand, gaze bouncing from white jerseys to black, waiting for the sportsman handshake.
Yeah, that’s so not happening, buddy.
As if able to hear my inner coach, the ref shakes his head before going over the spiel about the football embossed on the silver being heads and the hawk representing tails.
The Nittany Lions win the toss, electing to receive first. Fine by me. Let my boys on D get their first shot at teaching this scumbag a lesson about respect. The way Kev’s dark eyes twinkle in the shadow from his helmet tells me he’s having similar thoughts.
“Blow a kiss to Kay for me.” Liam pulls off his helmet and puckers his lips at me.
Black-jersey-clad bodies step into my field of vision in an instant, my friends circling around me. “You keep her name out of your fucking mouth,” I snarl like a rabid beast, my size making it possible to see how Liam’s smile widens over Alex’s shoulder.
Liam is purposely baiting me. I know it. My guys know it. Doesn’t reduce the itch to lay his ass out right here, right now, leaving his body sprawled on top of the hawk printed on the turf.
The shrill of a whistle cuts through my haze of fury and I allow myself to be guided back to the Hawks’ bench.
Ripping my helmet off, I hold it down by my side, shoving all thoughts of Liam away and focusing on the person who is important here—the blonde with the colorful streaks grinning down at me.
I lift my arm to point at her with my helmet, give a wink, and return her blown kiss. Before I turn away, Kay makes a Y with her hand, waving the same hang loose gesture she gave Pops during NJA’s competition. I do the same with my free hand, and I need to remember to ask her about the significance behind it.
There’s a skip to my step as I make my way back to the sidelines, ready for my front-row seat to the pain about to rain all over the douche-monkey.
The whistle blows.
The quarterback calls the play.
The ball snaps and the lines go into motion.
The clash of pads against pads is like music to my ears, especially when one of our safeties flattens Parker on his back.
After no gain on the play for the Nittany Lions, the lines reset for the second down, holding them to only two yards.
Third and eight, the quarterback hands off the ball to Parker, and he barely makes it a yard before Kev drives a shoulder into his middle, lifting him off th
e ground and driving him into the turf. Kev stays in his face until the refs force them apart.
The smile on my friend’s face as he jogs off the field, helmet in hand, indicates how gratifying the hit was.
Game on.
#Chapter59
There’s a pit in my stomach unlike any other I’ve ever had for a football game before—and I’ve sat in the stands while E played in the Super Bowl.
I haven’t been able to sit still since I made it to my seat, keyed up and unable to shake off the confrontation with the asshole.
G and CK both had more than a few choice words when I told them about everything that went down, and I’m grateful JT was the brother to which King decided to relay what happened. JT’s texts had a protective edge to them, but E would have sped up the I-95 to kick Liam’s ass if he heard.
What has me the most nervous is I know my boyfriend. There’s no way he’s going to let an insult against me go unanswered. The way he stalks around the sidelines is downright lethal, and I didn’t miss the white-knuckled grip he had on his helmet when he blew me my pregame kiss.
I jolt as I swear I feel the vibration from Kev’s latest tackle. For this entire set of downs, the Hawks’ defense hasn’t taken any prisoners, pummeling and punishing the Penn State offensive line.
The play is called dead with the blast of a whistle, but Kev remains on top of Liam. Kev’s knee is braced on the turf, the toe of his cleat digging in, his foot arching with the effort. His hands are fisted in Liam’s jersey, the faceguards of their helmets bumping against each other as Kev gets all up in Liam’s face. Granted, they’re too far away for us to actually hear anything, but the subtle flex and pop of Kev’s wrists gives away that it’s not a friendly little chat.
I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until my body sags from my rushed exhalation when the refs step in to separate them.
“Welp.” G claps his hands together as we watch a now smiling Kev jog to the sideline and share a complicated fist-bump, hand-slap bro handshake with Mase. “So much for dick weasel being safe from your boy since he’s on offense.”
