chapter 40
Chase had tried. He’d tried and fought it as long as he could.
Two nights without sleep would drive a man wild.
Two days of watching every man on the team and trying to figure out which one had touched her.
Two days stacked on two months of seeing her face, her smile, her body …
and a man could only retain so much self-control.
He’d tried to end it, sending her up into the stands, toward a strange girl.
He’d wanted to test her reaction, to try and push some space between them.
It had worked, on some weak scale, until he’d seen Tobey Grant.
The asshole had been downstairs. Drinking at the bar, two friends with him, idiots who cheered him on and laughed too loud.
Given the hour, given the slur in Tobey’s speech …
Chase had only wanted to warn Ty. Tell her about the drinking, maybe dissuade her from seeing him that night.
But then she had opened the door, wearing what appeared to be nothing but a jersey.
Hair down, cheeks flushed, she had smelled of soap and fucking innocence.
She stood there in that doorway and studied him, and so help him God, he couldn’t stop.
He had stepped in, reaching for her, his touch too rough, his control shot, and had a moment of worry, hearing the slam of the door, feeling the tremor of her body—that he was forcing himself on her.
Then her arms had wrapped greedily around his neck, her mouth opening for his, her body soft against his … and it was official.
He was screwed.