Chapter 17
Amy
The roar of the crowd is a tangible energy pulsing through the stadium.
Damn. I don’t even like football, but this is exhilarating.
I’m surrounded by a sea of people, which normally puts me on edge, but Tristan did good by me.
Before the game, he greeted me at the parking lot and led me to “family seating.” He even went out of his way to find me a buddy—another player’s girlfriend who he says is a big reader.
I’ve been too frazzled by the novelty of everything to have a real conversation with her, but so far, she seems open and friendly.
I tug at the hem of Tristan’s jersey, which hangs past my hips. It’s practically a dress.
“Feeling self-conscious?” my game buddy, Danae, asks.
I nod. “This jersey is way too long. I feel like everyone is staring at me.”
She grins. “They are staring, but not because it’s too long. It’s because it says Wolfe on the back.”
Heat rushes into my cheeks. “I didn’t think of that.”
She leans in close and lowers her voice. “He never lets anyone wear his jersey. He said the only woman who will ever wear his jersey is his future wife.”
My mouth drops open. “You mean never anyone?”
Her smile is so big it reveals all her white teeth. “Never. He’s obviously joking about the future wife thing, but it used to make Harper crazy.”
My head grows fuzzy as I stare out at the players on the field. How is it possible that I’m the first person he’s ever allowed to wear his jersey?
What kind of game is he playing with me?
“I could tell you were special when I watched your first date with him. He just, like, lit up when you walked into the room, you know?”
My stomach flutters, and I hate myself for it. I never thought I could fall under his spell. I thought I wasn’t capable of it.
I cannot wear this jersey, even if the “future wife” thing is a joke. The thought of him giving me that honor is like champagne bubbles fizzling through my veins.
It’s not good.
Not good at all.
After grabbing the hem, I yank it over my head and roll it into a ball on my lap. My tank top is thin, but it will be fine. It’s not too cold out.
Danae’s eyes grow huge. “Tristan isn’t going to like that.”
“He won’t notice from the field.”
“I think he will.” There’s a smile in her voice.
A breeze brushes over my skin, stiffening my body. It’s okay. I can make it through the next…
Fuck, how long do football games last?
A few minutes later, Tristan is standing near the sidelines talking to one of his teammates. He lifts his head. Even though I can’t see his eyes through his helmet, I know he’s looking at me.
Uh-oh.
He marches toward the family area and takes off his helmet.
“Amelia Harrington,” he calls out. “What do you think you’re doing?”
I shut my eyes as laughter breaks out around us.
“Get that jersey back on now.” Tristan’s voice is even louder.
My body is frozen. I couldn’t put the jersey on right now if I tried, but then Tristan speaks again.
“Don’t make me come up there, Amelia. You won’t like the consequences.”
The laughter becomes an uproar around us. All of these people know Tristan intimately, so I’m sure it doesn’t surprise them.
Fuck him. I won’t let him bully me by using public attention to get me to bend to his will. I lift the jersey high in the air before giving it a careless toss onto the open seat in front of me.
Even from this distance, I can see how Tristan’s pretty blue eyes grow wide, and his lips tick up at the edges. “You’re asking for it,” he shouts.
A thrill runs through my veins, muffling out the laughter in the crowd. Tristan stalks up the steps with his eyes fixed on me. When he makes it to our section, everyone around us scoots out of the way—including Danae. He walks over to me and picks up the jersey in front of me.
Like he did in the coffee shop, he sticks it over my head like a collar. He crosses his arms over his chest and stares down at me. “Don’t get me in trouble with my coach by making me wait.”
I raise my chin. “You’re getting yourself in trouble.”
His grin grows as he crouches down beside me and grabs the jersey. “Do you want me to kiss you in front of thousands of people, little one? I’ll do whatever it takes to show them you’re mine.”
My surprise must be all over my face because Tristan laughs. I grab the jersey and frantically pull it down my body. When I’m finally able to look at Tristan, his eyes are dark and possessive.
He moves as if to stand up, but then he quickly turns back and grabs my face. He kisses me hard and quick. Cheers break out around us as he stands up and walks back to the stairs. Before descending the steps, he turns back to me. “Good girl.”
My face must be on fire, but I’m not as embarrassed as I ought to be.
I must be vain, because his stupid public spectacle set my belly on fire.
Danae scoots back next to me and sets her hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “Good girl, huh? Sounds like you two have a lot of fun outside of the competition.”
I shut my eyes for a moment. I can’t blame Danae for making assumptions. Of course she would think Tristan and I are sleeping together.
He’s singling me out in a way he never has with any woman before me. Not even Harper.
The next few hours pass by in a blur. I’m so in my head that I can’t concentrate on the game. Not that I have any idea what the fuck is going on, anyway.
One thing I can pay attention to out there on the field is Tristan.
He’s so intense when he plays, his muscular body moving with grace and purpose.
I’ll never forget that conversation when he told me how much football means to him.
How it’s like writing for me. He said it was like his body became the whole game.
I can see it. Even when I don’t understand the game, I can see how he knows it intimately. How every move he makes is a complicated calculation based on every moving piece on the chessboard.
No wonder he’s so good at playing games with me.
A moment later, Tristan comes running to the sidelines, approaching his coach.
He takes his helmet off and glances up into the stands, his piercing blue eyes meeting mine.
His eyes stay locked on mine for a moment before glancing down to the number on my chest, and a smile spreads over his face.
When he lifts his eyes again, he winks and mouths, “Good girl.” Laughter breaks out around us.
“Keep moving, Wolfe!” I shout, and the laughter gets louder.
We’re nearing the end of the game, and the anticipation in the air is electric as the final seconds tick down. I can’t tear my eyes away from Tristan. Even with that helmet on, I can almost see the intense concentration in his eyes. I can almost feel it emanating from his body.
It’s the same intensity I feel when we’re alone together. Like he’s trying to figure me out.
A moment later, the crowd roars, and the announcer says something about Tristan. The only words I understand are “once again” and “Wolfe.”
He did it. Pacific Crest won.
A strange pride unfurls in my belly. I don’t care about football. I don’t care about Tristan. So what is the strange possessiveness sizzling through my veins? I’m grinning as Tristan celebrates with his teammates on the field.
As the celebration begins to wind down, Tristan’s gaze scans the crowd until it lands on me. His eyes flash, and he starts moving toward the sidelines with purpose, brushing past teammates.
“Go get her, Wolfe!” someone yells, and my cheeks grow hot.
When he reaches the edge of the field, he raises his arm high in the air and flicks his fingers. Something about that simple gesture makes heat fill my belly. He’s domming me. There’s no other way to describe it.
I’ve never practiced BDSM in real life, but I’ve written about it plenty.
Maybe the whirlwind of the last few weeks will fuel my writing. It’s been tumultuous for my emotions, but I’m finally out in the world.
I’m living, instead of escaping into my private fanfic world where I have complete control.
The consequence of living is pain, but I can deal with it. I’m proving to myself that I’m strong. That I’m not hiding away from the possibility of rejection like I’ve been doing in the years since my friendship with Harper dissolved.
“Get down here now, little one,” Tristan calls out.
As if my legs have a will of their own, I stand up from the bleachers and start walking down the stairs toward the sidelines.
When I’m only a few steps from the field, he scoops me up in his arms and starts twirling me around.
He presses kisses on my face. With our bodies pressed together, the world falls away for a moment.
It’s just us, our hearts pounding against one another.
“Victory makes me a little crazy,” he whispers in my ear. “I might be a little handsy when I take you home tonight.”
The warmth in my belly turns to fire. “That’s alright,” I say, hardly believing my tongue.
Victory must make me crazy too.
His lips find mine, and suddenly, we’re lost in a passionate kiss that ignites a wildfire within me. With the heat of his body against mine, and the roughness of his hands on my back, I’m not sure I’ve ever been more turned on in my life.
“Don’t you have to celebrate with your teammates?” I ask.
He laughs, a deep rumble of a sound. “They’ll forgive me. Who would even think of celebrating with them when I have you?”
He kisses me hard before setting me down on my feet. “Alright,” he says, “It’ll take me two minutes to shower.” He touches the bottom of my jaw and lifts my chin. “Don’t dare go anywhere.”
My belly turns to fire. I love it when he orders me around. “I won’t.”
It’s a shame that I won’t get to experience his domination for more than a single night.
Looks like I’ll have to make the most of my revenge sex when the time finally comes.
Tristan
She smiles as she sips her soda, making slurping sounds because she reached the bottom of it a while ago. We’ve been sitting here in my car for nearly an hour now, and I’m not ready to let her walk up to that dorm.