Chapter 15
Josephine
After an annoyingly restful and indulgent night’s sleep, I wake up on Saturday morning to the sounds of an apparent pregame ritual.
The bass from the music coming from downstairs is so intense it’s rattling the windows facing the lake.
I hoped to avoid the guys all day today, honestly.
Kylian is taking me to the stadium at noon.
I assumed the others would be out of the house early.
I freshen up in the bathroom, using the fully stocked toiletries in the vanity, then twist my hair into a high ponytail. I reach for the crewneck I wore last night but pause, arm outstretched, assessing myself in the mirror.
My thin tank top is tight against my tits and just a bit too short, showing off a stretch of tanned stomach.
I’m wearing a pair of LCU sweats rolled low on my hips.
With a grin, I find a tube of lip gloss in my purse, then spot my meds hiding below it.
Thank god Locke grabbed my bag for me during his contribution to my middle-of-the-night kidnapping. Small mercies and all that.
I’m determined to beat Decker at his own game and make him regret the day he decided to keep me against my will.
Giddy at the notion of making the guys flustered, I practically skip down the steps. Below, it sounds like Locke singing along to the song, amping himself up and screaming the chorus.
As soon as my feet hit the landing, the music pauses, and four pairs of eyes sear into me with so much intensity I almost turn around and run right back up the stairs.
Frozen, I look from man to man. My ruse worked—I’ve clearly disarmed them, based on the way they’re all gawking at me. What I wasn’t counting on was how my body would respond to their heated stares.
My traitorous nipples pebble beneath the thin fabric of my top as my heartbeat hammers an erratic rhythm in my chest. With a thick swallow, I push away thoughts of my physical reaction, then let out a shaky, breathy laugh.
“Uh, hi. Good morning.”
That snaps them out of it.
A new song blares through the speakers, and Kendrick turns to open the fridge.
Decker scowls at me a moment longer, then stalks around the kitchen island to join Kylian, who’s got two devices propped up in front of him.
It takes Kylian a few extra seconds to blink back to the present and turn to his screens again.
Locke is the only one still looking at me. He offers me a thorough assessment from head to toe, followed by a sly, almost shy smile as I approach him.
“Are you hungry? I made eggs,” he murmurs, picking up the spatula from beside the stove. “Just scrambled, since I don’t know how you like them.”
My stomach rumbles before I can respond.
I haven’t really decided what to do about Locke. It’s utterly pointless to continue to ignore him while we’re living under the same roof. Kendrick barely looks at me. And I cringe every time Decker says my name. I could stand to use another ally around here—especially one who knows how to cook.
“Thanks, they look great,” I eventually reply.
Locke’s eyes light up, and he scoops a huge serving onto a plate. “Salt and pepper are on the table. How do you like your coffee?”
Hmm. What are the chances they have fancy creamer in their mega-stocked fridge—
“Josephine,” Decker grunts.
It takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to roll my eyes.
“Yes, Cap?” I reply, my tone sticky sweet.
“These are yours. For the game.” His eyes are narrowed on me as he holds up a black bag and a lanyard.
“It’s a media pass and a camera. You’ll be expected to take pictures.
” He holds up the lanyard so the badge attached to it sways.
“The pass will let you onto the field so you can sit on the bench with Kylian.”
“You’re on the team?” I ask Kylian, not bothering to mask my surprise.
Decker scoffs, then claps a big hand on Kylian’s back. “He is the team.”
I have no idea what that means. Whatever. I’m sure Kylian will explain things once his beloved captain takes off for the stadium.
“All right, boys, wrap it up. We’ve got a game to win. We’ll leave in five.”
With that, Crusade grabs a shaker bottle and pops in his earbuds, then turns and heads out of the kitchen. Kendrick follows wordlessly.
Locke remains, quietly washing the pan. Turning to me, he leans back against the counter. “You’ll be at the game?”
He just heard Decker explain where I’ll be sitting and what I’ll be required to do. Maybe Locke thinks I’m a flight risk—spoiler alert: I am—or maybe he’s just trying to make small talk. Either way, I nod in response.
“I’ll be there,” I confirm sourly. Then I add, “Thanks for breakfast. Good luck today. Go, uh, Lake Chapelers?” I’m a full-time student, so I should probably know what the school’s mascot is, but I’ve been a little busy being kidnapped and strategizing my escape to look it up.
Kylian laughs beside me as Locke smirks and walks out of the kitchen.
“We’re the Lake Chapel Crusaders, Jo.”
The bench we’re sitting on practically vibrates as fans scream on every side of us.
The band plays, adding to the pandemonium as the Lake Chapel Crusaders ravage their opponents on the field.
The energy is something I’ve never experienced before.
The whole stadium is pulsing with excitement: One heartbeat.
One purpose. It’s mesmerizing and intoxicating at the same time.
Me? I still don’t really know what’s going on. There are a lot of rules, and the guys are only on the field sometimes, when Kylian says we have possession of the ball.
Here’s what I do know:
Decker is the quarterback, which means he’s involved in all the offensive plays.
Kendrick is a running back, and he ends up with the ball about half the time. He’s scored twice so far today, and, according to Kylian, he keeps getting downs, whatever that means.
Locke’s position is guard. He’s taken hit after hit from the guys trying to get to Decker. He hasn’t let anyone through yet.
It’s the person I’m parked next to who surprises me most, though. Now that I’m watching him in action, Decker’s comment about Kylian makes sense. He is the team.
Kylian is juggling two tablets and wearing a headset.
Every time a play occurs on the field, he types furiously on one of his iPads, and the whole screen of numbers and figures recalculates.
He scrolls through—clicking and tapping faster than humanly possible—then calls out random nonsense into a headset.
It’s fascinating to watch him work. He’s locked in and laser-focused. It’s like his brain is in another dimension, totally unaffected by the chaos and pandemonium around us.
The coaching staff and team give him a wide berth, so we have an entire bench to ourselves. Beside me, it’s just Kylian, his devices, those fast fingers, and his calm, confident murmurs into the mic.
I can’t stop watching him. The skill he possesses is insanely sexy. It’s obvious Kylian was meant to do this, whatever this is.
“It’s stats,” he tells me when I ask him to explain it between the first and second quarter. Because in addition to being a wizard with his various spreadsheets, he can also carry on a conversation with me.
“The coaches make the final play calls. But I update our stats in real time, calculating the probability of success associated with each play. More and more professional teams are deferring to stats for play calling. Decker’s convinced I’ll land a job with him or Kendrick next year when they’re drafted. ”
The team runs off the field at halftime, but Kylian stays put, so I stay seated, too. I assume he’s still deep in his spreadsheets when his words catch me off guard.
“If you need to go anywhere or do anything… I’ll help. Just ask, and I’ll help.”
Emotion clogs my throat. I have to remind myself that he’s partly to blame for why I’m stuck at the Crusade Mansion, though.
“Why?” I ask with a shaky breath.
He doesn’t answer right away. In fact, so much time passes, I’m convinced he’s not going to answer me at all. The roar of the crowd kicks back up as halftime ends and the team rushes back onto the field.
“You’re not alone in this, Jo,” he says, cupping his mic so his words don’t carry. “I’ll help,” he repeats.
I don’t have time to reply before the start of the third quarter.