Chapter 14
Reece
Ican’t stop thinking about the way she came for me.
It doesn’t matter what I do to drown it out. It doesn’t matter how many laps I run until my lungs feel shredded or how many times I grip the bar and bench until my chest screams and my arms shake. None of it touches her. I can’t sweat her out.
Her scent still lingers.
On my skin. In my mouth. In the part of my brain that’s short-circuiting and glitching the fuck out.
I replay it without permission.
The sounds she made when she broke apart—those wrecked, breathless gasps.
Her back arched, her mouth open, those pretty fucking whimpers spilling from her throat as if she didn’t know how to hold them in.
That soft little sound she made when I pushed in slowly, then harder, testing her, feeling her open up for me.
Those desperate little fucking sounds that made my cock twitch before I was all the way buried.
Tight. Slick. Fucking heaven.
Jesus.
The way her pussy took me. Her mouth opened as if she couldn’t breathe unless it was through me. The kind of heat that rewires your mind. That makes you forget every other body you’ve ever touched.
Fuck.
Red was heaven soaked in heat and sin, and now she’s poison in my veins, already burning me from the inside out.
And then she fucking ran.
That part is stuck on repeat. She pulled her clothes back on with shaking hands and bolted as if she couldn’t get away fast enough. Left me lying there, breath still fucked, heart pounding, staring at her as if I had been the one who had been used.
Guess that’s karma.
I’ve walked away from girls many times after getting my dick wet. Left them with nothing but a memory and a sore body. I never thought twice about it.
Turns out I don’t handle it very well when I’m the one left behind.
Not when I cared. Or that I was still inside her a minute before she ghosted me.
I slam my locker shut so hard that the hinge rattles and a few students jump.
Good.
My head’s pounding from lack of sleep and too many swirling thoughts about her. Everything’s too damn loud. There are too many people around. And there she is again in my mind, her voice cracking as she moaned my name.
Fuck.
This is what I get. I treated girls as temporary side notes, and now the girl I truly desire won’t even glance at me.
Jace stands next to me and pats my shoulder. He snaps me out of my spiral.
“Jesus, you look like you haven’t slept in a week. What chick did you hook up with this time?”
I grin automatically, muscle memory kicking in. I don’t answer because I don’t want him to know it’s Sam who has fucked me completely.
Jace leans back against the lockers, grinning at a girl in a skirt too short to be legal.
“Damn,” he mutters. “You see that bounce? Fuck, this year’s buffet just keeps getting better.”
I grunt, distracted.
“You’re grumpy,” he says, grinning. “You finally tapped that cherry girl or what?”
“No,” I say too quickly, eyes darting down the hall so he can’t see the lie all over my face.
He laughs. “What the fuck is stopping you, man? You usually have girls folded in days.” He leans closer, voice dropping. “No way you’re gonna tap that frigid bitch.”
My fist curls before I can stop it.
Heat surges through me, sharp and ugly. One more word, and I’d happily rearrange his damn face for talking about Red like that. For turning her into something cheap and laughable when he has no idea what she felt like.
Jace keeps talking, unaware that I’m one step away from punching him.
“Bring on the two hundred. Fuck, I could really use that shit.”
I hate myself for the bet. That my ego couldn’t handle the rejection when she shut me down repeatedly and that I needed to prove something instead of walking away.
And now all I feel is trapped in it.
Across the hall, Tia’s high-pitched voice sounds.
Here we fucking go.
“I don’t give a damn if you wore it last week, Nicole,” Tia snaps, chin held high, voice sharp enough to cut. “This is my color. You’re obsessed with me, and it’s getting weird.”
Nicole scoffs, arms crossing tightly over her chest. “Please. Just because your dad bought you fake Chanel doesn’t mean you own the color red.”
A few gasps ripple through the crowd.
“Oh honey,” Tia sneers, smiling venomously. “I own everything. Including the spot at the top. You should remember that before you start dressing for a throne that was never yours.”
The circle tightens around them, with people leaning in and feeding off the energy. Phones are half-raised. Whispers buzz. Drama hits this place like blood in the water, and the sharks are starving.
Most people don’t care about who wore what or which label their dad bought. But it’s loud, chaotic, and entertaining. It’s the chaos that helps everyone forget about the real shit simmering underneath.
Then my body becomes tense.
I sense her before I see her. A tingling sensation slides down my spine, and my focus snaps to the side without warning. Red is nearby. I don’t know how. I just know.
And suddenly the noise fades, the yelling blurs, the crowd becomes background static. Because it has nothing to do with Tia, Nicole, or their petty little screwed-up war.
It all comes down to the girl who walked away.
My eyes remain fixed on her.
She’s standing with Liz, who’s crying over something I couldn’t care less about, but Red’s the one holding her as if she’s trying to glue her back together. Gentle, quiet, and warm. The opposite of everything I am and everything I can’t stop wanting.
She hasn’t looked at me once. Not when she walked in today or when she crossed the quad. Not even now, when I know she damn well feels me watching her.
That same ache gnaws at my chest. It’s bitter and sharp. She’s avoiding me. Like yesterday, she walked right past me as if we were strangers and I hadn’t had her gasping my name with my cock buried deep inside her.
I didn’t have a clue what to do when I saw her yesterday. Still don’t. My brain goes static, all that cocky bullshit I wear like armor slipping off the second she’s close. This girl has threw a fucking grenade into my chest and walked away as if nothing had happened.
She hugs Liz tighter.
And then her eyes flick to mine.
It’s not long. Maybe a second or two. But it’s enough to knock the breath clean out of me. My stomach flips, heart stumbles like a rookie. I don’t move. I can’t.
Someone steps into my line of sight, and I want to shove them out of the way just to keep watching her.
Maya.
Blonde bombshell who you don’t get to speak and tits that defy physics. Her personality’s about as real as her moans, and I’ve heard both… twice. Possibly three times. It was never about her. It was about getting off, forgetting the fucking noise out of my head for a few minutes.
She hones in, moving forward, teeth sunk into a pout like she’s in heat. Again.
“Hey, stranger,” she purrs, hand splaying across my chest like she owns it.
I stare down at it.
“What the fuck are you looking for, Maya? Validation?”
She laughs, all breathy and fake. “You’ve been quiet lately. Thought we could fix that.”
She presses in, her tits squished against my arm, her mouth brushing my ear as if she’s trying to narrate a porno. “Free period next. I’ve got an empty car. Want to come make some noise?”
It should be an easy yes. It always was before.
She’s hot, willing, and saying all the right things.
But all I see is Sam. All I want is red hair and the breathy way Sam said my name when I fucked her with my fingers.
I step back, untangling Maya’s hand from my shirt.
“Go find someone else to suck the life out of. I’m good.”
Maya blinks, all glossy lips and confusion flickering behind thick lashes. “Seriously?”
“Can’t miss next class,” I mutter, voice flat. “Coach’ll rip my nuts off if I’m late again.”
Total bullshit. If it were Red saying those words “empty car, free period,” I’d already be peeling off her shorts with my teeth. But it’s not Red. It’s Maya. And I don’t want fake moans and plastic everything.
She huffs, spins on her heel, and stomps off, looking for a guy with more brain cells in his dick than his head. It shouldn’t be hard. Probably someone like Jace.
Jace slings an arm around my shoulder, grin cocky. “There’s the Reece I know. Fuck ‘em and forget ‘em. Still, I would’ve taken her up on it.”
I smirk. “Yes, I am aware. You’d fuck a reflection if it winked at you.”
He leans in. “You’re lookin’ at me now.”
“Fuck off. You couldn’t handle my dick.” I toss it out, smooth, cool as ever. Delivered with all the swagger I’ve built my name on. “Besides, I got action last night.”
It’s a lie.
Jace gives me a glance. That grin that says he knows how full of shit I am. But he doesn’t call me out on it. He just laughs.
And I let him.
Because I didn’t fuck anyone last night. Didn’t even jerk off. I lay there in the dark, hard and wrecked and completely alone.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her.
The sheets still smelled of her.
I didn’t jerk off last night because the thought of my hand felt pathetic and hollow. I sure as fuck wasn’t going to insult it with some mindless tug while thinking about Sam.
I wanted the real thing.
But now she won’t even look at me.
So, I do what I always do. Slap on a grin. Throw on the swagger. Pretend.
Play the role of the guy who doesn’t care. Let Jace think I’m still that guy who can fuck a girl and forget her name ten minutes later. The guy who shrugs things off and laughs at feelings like they’re a punchline.
And now I’m pretending not to care, even though every cell in my body fucking aches for the girl who walked away. Because if I reveal the truth, I’ll have to admit what’s really happening—that I’m falling for her and I don’t know how to stop.
It’s easier that way—to fake it, laugh it off. Lie through my teeth and hope no one notices the way she’s tearing me apart from the inside.
By the time practice rolls around, I’m barely holding it together. Half-feral with need, frustration, and whatever the hell this ache is she left behind.
Coach yells for drills, and I’m already moving. First in line, body tense, fists clenched. I hit harder. Run faster. Tackle like I’m trying to bury the memory of her in the dirt.
Every grunt is a battle cry. Every hit is my attempt to shake her from my mind, to bleed her out through sweat and bruises.
It doesn’t fucking work.
But it gets me noticed.
Coach lets out a low whistle after I slam one of the starting forwards to the ground.
“Well done, Reece,” he says, eyebrows raised. “That was brutal. Keep it up and you’ll be the first pick this weekend.”
It’s what I want. What I’ve wanted since the day I lost it. To claw my way back into that starting lineup. To prove I’m not just some loudmouthed asshole who burns everything he touches.
Even if I’m only getting the nod because they’re short on the team, it still all counts, and it fucking matters. It’s something I earned—through bruises, sweat, and grit in my teeth.
I need this. I need to believe I’m still worth something, that I haven’t lost every damn part of myself chasing a girl who won’t even acknowledge me anymore.
Because when I’m on the field, when I’m hitting, running, and getting knocked on my ass, this is mine, and for the first time in too fucking long, I don’t feel hollow.