Chapter Thirty-One
EMERSON
“I’m really looking forward to you in an apron and nothing else.” Sanchez gripped me by the hips and held me close to his body as we both walked toward the locker room. “In fact, I think you should let me help you shower—just in case you have grass and dirt in places that need inspection.”
“Very funny.” I shoved him away and ran. I was pissed. I liked winning.
“Aw, baby.” He chased after me and then tackled me to the ground right before I ran off the field.
He held his weight above me by bracing his arms on either side of my body. “I like you.”
“Is that your way of apologizing for winning?”
“You shouldn’t have blitzed again.” He grinned. “I read it.”
“Bullshit!” I shoved his rock-hard, totally sexy chest. “I wasn’t even looking at you!”
“Yeah, but I felt you.” He licked his lips. “And I know how competitive you are. You were thinking about stopping me—stopping the play—not about the actual play headed in your direction or the fact that I’d do a quarterback fake.”
I scrunched up my nose and sighed. “I thought you were going to throw it.”
“Uh-huh, and I ran instead.”
“You hadn’t run at all the entire game.”
“Which is why I ran.” He nodded slowly. “Is my girl really this competitive? Because I gotta tell you, it’s hot as hell.” His lips found my neck.
I didn’t shove him away; instead, my treacherous body met him halfway in a searing kiss. His mouth moved across mine with such tenderness that I wanted to cry. His fingers dug into my shoulders, and then when he pulled back, his green eyes didn’t leave mine. “We should hit the showers.”
“Don’t think I didn’t notice that you said we.”
“Don’t think I didn’t notice that my kiss made you breathless,” he countered.
I gulped, eyeing his mouth again. “Maybe.”
His eyebrows rose as he smirked and then slowly stood to his feet and offered his hand.
We walked hand in hand down the hall toward the two locker rooms. Someone was shouting.
Miller was in the process of shoving Kinsey behind him.
“This is bullshit!” Thomas rounded the corner, slamming a chair against one of the hallway walls as the practice squad stood in silence around him. Then some squad members trickled out of the guys’ locker rooms while others still leaned against the walls, expressions stunned. “It’s because of you!” He jabbed a finger at Miller. “What? YOU think you’re big shit because you have a huge contract?”
Miller said nothing.
“Man . . .” Sanchez took a step forward just as Jax grabbed my arm and pulled me against the wall. I wasn’t sure why he was putting me out of sight, but I didn’t argue. “You guys aren’t even close to being the same position.”
“I’m getting cut!” Thomas kicked the chair he’d just thrown. “And since when do you ever take Miller’s side? What, you guys friends now?” he sneered.
“Teammates are family.” A muscle in Sanchez’s jaw twitched. “After all the shit that went down between us, you of all people should know that.”
“That’s bullshit! You’re my friend. You’re supposed to defend me. You’ve always defended me! You’ve known him for less than two months!”
“Thomas . . .” Sanchez put his hands out in front of him. “You’re upset. I see that. Let’s just go somewhere and talk out options, yeah. You’re super talented. It’s not that bad, right?”
“Options?” Thomas repeated with a snarl. “I have no fucking options, Grant! You know that! And what’s worse is Coach said he’d talked to the captains about this, meaning you knew it was a possibility, and you didn’t say shit!”
“Sanchez didn’t know.” Jax stepped around me. “But I did.”
Sanchez hung his head and cursed.
“And based on this little outburst, I helped Coach make the right decision.”
Thomas lunged for Jax, but Sanchez grabbed him by the shirt and then shoved him against the wall. “Shake it off, man.”
“This,” Thomas said in a harsh whisper. “Before that stupid bet, you would have never been like this. You choosing girls over me too, Grant? Because we all know the only reason you’re cozying up to Coach and pretending to be Mr. Perfect all the time is because you bet you could fuck the cheerleader and she’s yet to put out. Who’s going to care then? When you mess up like you messed up with Jacki! That’s what you do, you screw with girls, then leave them!”
I gasped and covered my mouth.
Jax wasn’t standing in front of me anymore, so all eyes turned to me.
Sanchez punched Thomas in the face twice before Miller could pull him away. “That’s bullshit, and you know it!”
“Is it?” Thomas snarled before he disappeared into the guys’ locker room and came back with something in his hand. It looked like a trophy. “Every year, the players pick a girl to screw. Last year, I won, then again that was after your cheating fiancé made a pass at me.”
He walked toward me; my back was glued to the wall. I wasn’t sure what to do except breathe in and out while everyone watched with wide eyes.
“This year, Sanchez picked you.” Thomas shoved the trophy into my hands and towered over me.
“Don’t fucking touch her!” Sanchez yelled.
Miller let him go and followed Sanchez down the hall.
I felt it first, the metal on my fingertips.
It looked like something you’d get in middle school. It had a football player posing on top and an inscription on the bottom that read Player of the Year.
“Some captain.” Thomas scowled and shoved through players to leave the hall while I kept staring at the trophy.
My heart told me it wasn’t true.
Not after everything we’d shared.
But logic . . .
Kinsey’s words . . .
Everyone’s warnings . . .
And then the silence I was met with when I looked up into Grant’s eyes and waited for him to deny it.
Instead, his next words were basically the opposite. “Let me explain.”
It was almost worse than hearing the damning words of guilt.
Because that sentence made it seem like he had justification for what he’d done, for making me think that he wanted more than to screw a cheerleader.
And the stupidest part?
I’d walked right into it. He’d never lied about wanting to have sex with me.
The trophy fell from my fingers and made a loud clang on the floor as a buzzing erupted in my ears.
Miller clutched me by the arm. “Let him explain. It’s not what it looks like.”
I jerked away from him as fresh pain washed over me. “You knew?”
Miller’s nostrils flared.
“So, I had one guy trying to sleep with me for a bet, and my ex-best-friend . . . what? Just wanted to hurt me as bad as he thought I hurt him?”
Miller swore. “You have it all wrong. That’s not—”
“Let her go.” Sanchez grabbed Miller. “Kinsey, can you make sure she gets home?”
Tears filled my eyes. “That’s it? You’re just going to let me leave?”
“Yeah.”
I’d never seen Sanchez look so sad in my entire life.
“Because regardless of what this turned into, it started out exactly how you think. And that’s not fair to you. I like you. I never lied about that. I want to have sex with you. I never lied about that either. I want you to be mine. Another truth. I never lied to you. I just never told you about the bet because it stopped mattering the minute I met you.” He shrugged. “Those are the things I want you to believe, but you’re too angry to hear it, and right now . . . I’m too pissed to talk rationally.”
“But—”
“Go.” His voice was hoarse as he turned his back on me, marched down the hall, and literally broke a chair in two as he slammed it against the wall.
“There goes our season,” someone muttered.
“So much for another championship.” Another player eyed me with irritation and shuffled toward the locker room.
Someone must have restrained Sanchez because I heard fighting.
And then I was getting walked down the hall, outside to my car—Sanchez’s car. I didn’t even realize it was Miller instead of Kinsey until he wrapped an arm around me briefly before jerking it away.
Miller didn’t say anything; he just started the car for me and cursed as I tried to get my seatbelt on. He leaned in, buckled it, and cursed again as more tears ran down my cheeks.
“You know . . .” He knelt right outside my door. “I know you. This isn’t you. I don’t recognize this broken person.” He sighed. “When I first came here, I wanted nothing to do with you. Obviously that lasted a whole week before I realized I still . . . had feelings for you.” He exhaled. “I knew about that stupid childish bet a lot of the players participate in. What you don’t know is that the minute Sanchez saw you, I knew I never stood a fucking chance. God, I can still see the look on his face, this complete awestruck wonder. So, before you start blaming him and getting angry at me, think about the fact that he never lied—and that he’s probably hurting just as much as you are.”
“How can you say that?” I whispered. “I was used.”
“Did he ever tell you it was more than what it was?”
“No, but—”
“Sanchez doesn’t date. And yet, you’ve been going out with him for two months. Did he ever try sleeping with you? Pressuring you without your consent?”
“No,” I whispered.
“Did he ever lie to get you into bed?”
“No.”
“No man is that patient, especially when it comes to you, Em. Just think about it, alright?”
“Why aren’t you cheering?” I gulped, addressing the elephant between us, the one neither of us talked about. “You’re competitive, even if it comes to just the friendship between us.”
“I want you, and yeah I want to be more than friends, I want to get that piece back, but not like this. And if I’m being honest, you never looked at me the way you look at him.”
I glanced up with tear-filled eyes. “That’s not true!”
His smile was sad. “Em, go home, get some rest, but talk to him, okay?”
I nodded and, fifteen minutes later, crawled into my bed, and cried myself to sleep.