Chapter Fourteen
JENNA
“If you pull any tighter on those laces, they’re going to snap.”
Kendra’s observation is met with my hardest steely gaze.
She swallows thickly as I continue to aggressively lace up my cleats.
“Remind me not to piss you off in practice this morning.” My best friend stands from the bench, propping one foot onto it so she can adjust her shin guard.
I release a maniacal groan.
“Do you plan on speaking today, or are you choosing silence?”
I groan again, only this time, the sound is similar to the one that rose up my throat when Tommy made me come for the third time yesterday.
I cannot believe I slept with him. I’ve been berating myself since the second I woke up in my bed to the sweet scent of curry as it filled my nostrils. He one hundred percent made that curry to piss me off and highlight how bad my eating habits were.
But, boy, can he cook.
And fuck.
And his body is—
“I’m going to fly to the moon for a few days and meet with a new alien species. Do you want me to bring anything back from the gift shop?”
Kendra interrupts my thoughts, thumbing over her shoulder toward the locker room door.
I deadpan and come to stand in front of her, still feeling a little sore, courtesy of the Blades bad boy. “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.”
“Oh, so you are speaking today. Welcome back to reality.”
She claps her hands together, and I know she’s not going to let my mood—or the reasoning behind it—go.
“What’s eating at you?” she asks, just as several of our teammates exit the locker room, their cleats clattering against the hard floor.
Like a slideshow, brief images flash before my eyes—how Tommy pulled down the zipper on my sports bra, pinned me against my bedroom door, and thrust inside me so hard that I saw stars.
I pinch the side of my thigh, hard, certain I’ll leave a bruise but determined to yank my brain away from the memories.
Sex with Tommy can never happen again.
“Nothing is eating at me,” I bite out, trying to convince myself as much as my friend.
She quirks a doubtful brow at me. “Sure. You keep telling yourself that, and I’ll keep waiting for details of what’s really going on.”
Ten minutes later, I’m having the worst practice session of my career. You know it’s bad when you’re beaten at your near post—three times in quick succession.
On a headshake, I snatch up my water bottle from behind the net, taking two large pulls before throwing it back down.
“What’s the issue, Miller?” Coach Anderson approaches me, scratching at her temple as she tries to work out what the hell she’s witnessed today.
I’m playing like a stand-in goalie who just got woken from a ten-year-long coma.
I release a long sigh; I have zero answers for her—or at least reasons I can give that she’d understand.
“I think I ate something weird last night; I haven’t felt well all morning.”
Her eyes descend on my body.
Coach Anderson is one of the best I’ve worked with, and she can smell bullshit from a mile away.
“Why didn’t you report how you were feeling when you arrived? This Saturday is a key game and could dictate whether we lift the shield at the end of the season. If you aren’t feeling right, then I don’t want you wasting precious energy in a nonessential practice.”
Reaching up, I pull at the end of my high-top ponytail, frustrated at myself for telling lies. “I thought I could ride it out, but I was wrong.”
She nods once, narrowing her eyes at me in question. “Do you need to see the team doctor?”
I shake my head. I do not need to see a team doctor because there’s zero wrong with me, other than my state of distress over what I let Tommy Schneider do to me.
“Well, maybe you should skip out on the end of this session,” Coach suggests, pointing toward the main building. “Grab a warm shower and head home to relax. Get some decent nutrition on board too.”
I practically scowl at the two remaining containers of curry sitting in my freezer.
“Oh, and, Miller?” Coach calls out to me as I turn on my heel and head toward the locker rooms.
“Yes, Coach?”
She bends down, retrieving the water bottle I forgot.
I take it from her with a smile and wait for her to speak.
“I need to talk to you about next season and how I see the team shaping up. I planned to pull you to one side after this session, but now I’m thinking we’ll hold off until after Saturday’s game.”
I bite down on my bottom lip, genuinely unsure what she wants to discuss. Surely, my nutritional habits haven’t gotten back to her …
“Is everything okay?” I ask, impatient to know if I should be worried.
Coach’s expression turns soft. “Everything is fine. There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll have someone in admin fire a meeting request to you, and we can catch up and talk.”
The rain beats down against the roof of my car when I make a run for it across the parking lot.
With my training bag hanging off my shoulder and icy-cold rain soaking through my hoodie, I dig around in the pocket of my sweatpants for my car key.
“Nice practice.”
Rainwater drips from the end of my nose when I spin around and come face-to-face with the last person I wanted—or needed—to see.
“Why are you here? Don’t you have more episodes of Hell’s Kitchen to record?” I reply in a trembling tone. I can feel the chill as rain saturates my clothes, but it’s the spike in adrenaline that leaves my hands shaking.
Beneath the hood of his black raincoat, I can barely make out his smirk, although I know it’s there.
Tommy takes a few steps toward me until we’re only a few feet away. Practice is just wrapping up, so we’re the only ones in the parking lot.
“I like what you did there …” Tommy edges even closer, and it’s then I can see the darkness in his eyes. Water cascades off the edge of his hood as he leans forward, demanding that I look at him. “But I’m not the hellion around here.”
Grumbling, I finally locate my car key and hit Unlock.
I spin back around and yank my driver’s door open, only for a large palm to wrap around the top of the doorframe, holding it in place.
I ignore him and throw my training bag on the back seat.
“Move out of the way, or I’ll slam the door shut on your fingers,” I say, dumping myself in the driver’s seat and pulling on the door with all my strength.
It doesn’t budge, and Tommy’s drenched and ominous figure continues to loom over me.
“You’re getting my car wet!” I raise my voice, trying to slam my door shut once more.
Tommy inspects my white Ford Focus, which has seen better days. “How long did you save up for this beauty?”
Slowly, I close my eyes, hoping if I will it hard enough, then he’ll be gone when I finally reopen them.
“I don’t know why you’re here or how you even found out I had practice today, but please, just go.”
Still holding my door in one strong palm, Tommy reaches down and pulls on a lever next to my steering wheel. My hood pops up.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
He just shrugs, water now collecting at the ends of his thick, dark lashes. “I want to talk to you.”
“And I want to go.” I try the door again, hoping I can catch him off guard.
Tommy only grips the door tighter this time, chuckling to himself as he does. “You can’t drive anywhere with your hood open; it’s dangerous.”
As I drop my forehead to my steering wheel, I let my frustration get the better of me. “I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t even want to look at you.”
Suddenly, my driver’s door closes, quickly followed by a small thud and then the passenger door opening as Tommy climbs inside. With my head down and forehead still pressed against the steering wheel, I swivel my eyes to look at him. He’s so tall that his head brushes the ceiling.
He pushes back his hood, and I narrow my gaze at him.
“You’re dripping everywhere.”
Tommy’s eyes sparkle with mischief.
I hold up a hand. “Don’t even think about referencing yesterday because I never want to think—let alone talk—about it ever again.”
Like none of this comes as a surprise to him, he points to my steering wheel. “Crank the engine.”
I drop my shoulders and stare out of the windshield, only to notice my hood is now back in place. That must’ve been what he was doing when I was groaning against my steering wheel.
Feeling like resistance is futile, I start the engine, and Madonna’s “Holiday” immediately comes from the speakers.
To my surprise, Tommy doesn’t berate me for my taste in music as he buckles himself in and I do the same.
“Where are we going?” I ask, turning down the volume.
He motions toward the parking lot exit. “I got an Uber here, and the ride wasn’t even a three-star. So, you’re taking me home. We can talk on the drive there.”
I scoff and turn off the engine. “Are you for real?”
“Deadly, Jenna. I came to watch your practice—which, by the way, is published on your team’s website—and now I want to head home.”
I could wring this guy’s fucking neck. The audacity rolls from him in waves.
“I’m not taking you home or talking to you. Yesterday was a huge mistake.”
He clicks his tongue. “A huge mistake you’ll definitely be making with me again.” He points toward the door where the players emerge from, and a couple of my teammates start filtering out. “And one you’ll have to explain away to Kendra in the next couple of minutes if we don’t get out of here.”
Reluctantly, I start the engine and shift into drive, pulling out of the lot and onto the main road.
“You’re going the wrong way. I live in the nice part of town.”
How the fuck did this happen? This morning, I vowed never to make eye contact with Tommy Schneider ever again. Yet by lunchtime, I’m giving the fucker a ride home.
“You can get the bus in a second,” I bite out, doing a U-turn in the road.
We head in the opposite direction, and Tommy tells me to take a left.
I stay silent, focusing on getting the ride over with as fast as possible.
“Are you sore?”
My foot slides off the accelerator, and I hit the brakes sharply when we approach a stoplight.
“Excuse me?” I reply, staring straight out the windshield.
“Your pussy, Jenna. Are you sore after yesterday?”
His voice is heady and thick, just like it was when he pinned me against my bedroom door, and I squeeze my thighs together. This guy is several years younger than me. He has no right to be this skilled at turning me on. Especially when I hate everything about him.
This time, I choose to give him eye contact. “No. I barely noticed you were inside.”
On a deep laugh, Tommy throws his head back into the seat.
The stoplight is still on red when Tommy leans toward me. The scent of his breath transports me back to my bedroom, where he dominated my body, leaving me breathless and comatose.
He pauses only an inch from my lips and breathes out slowly.
Instinctively, my tongue swipes across my bottom lip.
His eyes track the action, and he sits back in his chair. Satisfied with himself. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
A flush of warmth paints my cheeks as, mercifully, the light turns green. I hit the accelerator, and my car wheels spin against the wet road.
Fucking prick.