Chapter Seventeen
Emily
A week after making Braden come in his pants, and he was still all I could think about.
The thing about being a woman in tune with her sexual desire, and also one who couldn’t relax enough with a one-night stand to actually get off, was that you often lived in purgatory.
I wanted to connect with someone, but I also didn’t want the icky feelings I got if it was just for one night and I felt used.
I wanted to explore and have fun, but I also wanted to feel safe and supported.
It was hard to come by someone who checked all those boxes.
But of course, Braden Fucking Lock had intrigued me from the first day I’d met him.
Physically, I’d wanted him instantly. When I teased him and he got all flustered, I found myself falling for his curious charm.
When he started flirting back, I found myself more desperate than I had been my entire life.
And now that I’d had him, I was just thirsty for more.
Sadly, more wouldn’t happen — it couldn’t. I knew it as well as he did. We’d gotten caught up in a moment and taken a risk that could have had us both in deep water. Fortunately, no one caught us, and we finally got to break that tension between us.
Except I was fairly certain it hadn’t done either of us any favors.
I’d told him it was no big deal, it could be our little secret, a one-and-done day.
But it had been like sneaking into a confectionery and only getting to take one little finger swipe of buttercream frosting. I wasn’t satiated because this man had made me come just by dry humping, for God’s sake.
What could he do when the clothes were out of the way?
How would those fingers that were wrapped around my throat feel curling inside me?
What would that magical tongue feel like between my thighs?
Said thighs clenched together at the thought as the glam squad finished my makeup. It was game day, a home game after two on the road, and the stadium was already buzzing with so much life I felt it humming through me.
I stared back at my reflection, framed by bright bulbs of white light.
And as excited as I was to dance, to cheer, to feed off the energy of that hungry crowd…
I knew I was most excited to see Braden.
Marcus flopped down in the chair next to me when the glam squad decided they were finished with me, a long sigh leaving his lips. He was typing away on his phone.
“You good?” I asked.
“On the field? Yes. In bed? Absolutely. In my heart?” He sighed again. “Not presently.”
I frowned, grabbing my friend’s shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “Wanna talk about it?”
Marcus bit his lip, looking around before he lowered his voice. “I met someone.”
“Do tell,” I encouraged, scooting closer. Marcus was pretty private about his love life, so if he was opening up to me, I was going to take every word he wanted to give.
“That’s the thing,” he said. “I… can’t really say more than that.”
“Why not?”
Marcus looked over my shoulder before whispering so low I barely heard him.
“He’s a player.”
I smirked. “Aren’t they all.”
“No, I mean, a player.” Marcus lifted his brows, waiting until I caught on.
Oh, shit.
My jaw dropped.
“Yeah,” Marcus said, leaning back with a sigh. “So… not sure what I think will come of this.”
“I can think of one thing,” I said. “Your spot on this team going up in flames.”
As I said the words, they burned my chest as much as I imagined they did his.
I was really the pot calling the kettle black here.
“We’ve been careful,” he said. “But… I don’t know. It’s getting harder to keep it all a secret.”
“What are you going to do?”
He shrugged, smacking his legs before he stood and offered his hand for me to do the same. “Dance with my girls and pretend like I don’t have a problem in the world.”
“Sounds logical to me,” I said, covering his hand with my own after he looped my arm through his. I kissed his cheek, lowering my voice. “I’m here for you, if you ever need to talk about it. Okay? You’re not alone.”
He patted my hand. “I know. Love you.”
“Love you.”
And then, it was showtime.
We took the field for warmups, stretching in our little area while I did my very best not to be too obvious in my search for Braden.
I’d kept my word. I’d left him alone after that day in the gym, other than a smile or a wink from a distance.
I hadn’t texted him — even though everything inside me wanted to.
And I hadn’t asked to meet again, even though I was pretty sure I’d die if I didn’t have his hands on me more than just that one time.
It hadn’t even been a full two weeks and I was going through withdrawals.
What would it be like if I relapsed and had him again?
I shook off the thought, knowing it wasn’t an option, and focused on the game at hand. We were set to open it all before kickoff with a new dance number that we’d been working tirelessly all week.
And I had a star tumbling pass in it.
My heart skittered at the reminder, hands balmy when I grabbed my pompoms and jogged to join the rest of the team that was getting lined up and ready for our spot.
We had no choice but to go past the players, some of whom were trickling back into the locker room until it was time for them to run out through the tunnel.
Braden, of course, wasn’t one of them.
He stood next to one of the benches, one foot propped on it while he did some sort of mobility stretch with his hip.
His helmet was on the ground, his uniform crisp and clean for the only time it would be all game.
I knew once that first whistle blew, it would be over — that white fabric would be covered with dirt and grass stains, with blood and sweat.
It made me absolutely feral to think about being the one to strip him out of it when the war was over.
He glanced over his shoulder when the dancers started approaching, acting like he barely noticed before he was focused on his stretch again. But he looked again when I was closer, and this time, his eyes found mine and held my stare.
It was only a moment, four or five seconds at best, but time warped and slowed like someone had pressed pause just for us. His warm eyes searched mine, like he wanted to say a million different things and hoped I’d hear them all by that look alone.
His expression was pained, his brows bent upward, jaw tight.
I wondered if his lungs burned as badly as I did when we shared the same air but couldn’t share each other.
Before the moment ended, I offered him the smallest smile, just a slight tilt of my lips that I hoped told him I was thinking all the things he was.
He broke, his lips curling to mirror mine before he ripped his gaze away and back to his leg.
But just as I was set to pass behind him, he adjusted his stance, and I didn’t have time to move or avoid him.
I bumped into the back of him, letting out a little squeal.
“Sorry,” I said, catching my balance.
And then I realized why he’d done it.
Because his hands reached out for my hips to steady me, that smile on his lips wider now, his eyes bright with mischief.
“My bad,” he said, his voice low, and his eyes raked down me, milking that stolen moment for all it was worth. His hands lingered on my skin for as long as they could before it would be inappropriate, and then reluctantly, he let me go.
And I felt a whole different kind of energy buzzing through me now.
We filed into position along the sideline, our formation tightening as we waited for the cue to take the center of the field.
The stadium was nearly full now, a sea of colors and movement, the kind of electric, pre-kickoff anticipation that fueled our players and dancers alike.
Music pulsed low through the speakers, not yet our track, just enough to keep the energy simmering as the final minutes ticked down.
My chest rose and fell a little faster than usual, a combination of my usual pre-game nerves and him.
I could still feel the imprint of Braden’s hands on my hips, the heat of his palms like it had soaked straight through my uniform and into my bloodstream. Every part of me felt more awake because of it, more aware, more alive, like I’d been dialed up just a notch too high in the best possible way.
And I knew he was still watching.
I didn’t look for him again, but I could feel it all the same.
“Places,” our captain called, and we started our jog toward the center of the field, pompoms catching the light with every step.
The noise grew louder the farther we went, the crowd swelling around us, wrapping us in it. I lifted my chin, letting it all hit me at once, the sun beaming overhead, the sound of the crowd, the energy—
And then something cut through it.
A voice.
Two voices.
Voices I would know anywhere.
I tried to follow them through the rest of the noise, searching the crowd as I filed into formation. Their screams grew louder, like they realized I was looking for them. And that’s when my gaze snagged on a pair of neon-green jerseys in the front row.
My parents.
The world tilted beneath my feet, causing me to stumble left a bit before I straightened.
They were here.
Why the fuck were they here?
They were right behind the home bench, pressed up against the railing, waving like they were trying to flag down a plane.
Mom was who I saw first, her honey brown, silky hair framing her smooth, tan skin like a halo.
Her face lit up when she realized I’d spotted them, and she jumped even higher with the glitter-covered sign in her hand.
We love you, Emily!
Dad was there beside her, a little more subdued, but beaming just the same. The neon of the jersey blazed against his deep brown skin, his hair cut into a tight fade, smile so wide I could see it even from the center of the field.
My stomach dropped and flipped all at once.
They were smiling so big, so proud, so completely thrilled to be here that it hit me like a pillowcase full of hardcover books, like something crashing straight into my chest. For a split second, warmth flooded through me, sharp and overwhelming, because they had come all this way, because they had surprised me, because they were here.
For me.