Chapter 22
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
WILDER
I reread the email again for the third time since I opened it.
Fucking Christ.
What in the hell is she thinking?
Oh, that’s right. She’s not.
She’s drunk off her ass at a club, sending me emails about how much she doesn’t give a fuck about my dick while she’s out with goddamn Legros.
Who’s probably flirting with her, touching her… while she’s drinking.
The thought of him putting his hands on her has a rush of fury pulling impossibly tight in my chest.
I shouldn’t care. It’s ridiculous that I even do.
Maisie’s not mine. She’ll never be mine, and I know that.
I fucking know that I have no right to feel this possessive, this certifiably insane when it comes to her, yet… I do.
I feel murderous when I think of anyone touching her. Anyone hearing the way she sounds when she makes those breathy little moans as she comes.
It makes me lose my goddamn mind.
“Motherfucker,” I snarl as I pick up the alarm clock off the box beside my bed and send it hurling toward the wall, where it shatters into pieces, scattering across the peeling linoleum floor.
She’s drunk, at a goddamn club with the last person I want her with when she’s not drunk.
It’s not just white-hot jealousy causing the monster inside of me to rear its head, beat on its chest, growling and roaring.
It’s the fact that I can’t make sure she’s safe.
She’s surrounded by a bunch of drunk, horny fucking idiots that don’t ever take the word no for what it means.
What if she’s leaving her drink unattended while she’s dancing, and someone slips something in it?
What if she’s too drunk to keep resisting dumbass Legros?
Fuck no.
This shit isn’t happening.
Grabbing my phone off the bed next to me, I open my email again, this time not to read the bratty one she sent but to pull up the email from Coach Taylor that he sent when I started at OU.
I click open the onboarding document he attached and was told that I’d be working with Maisie as my student liaison.
I flip through the pages until I find what I’m looking for.
Before I can even think about what’s going to happen after I do, I type her number in and press Call.
It’s likely an abuse of my power, using her private information for this, but right now, I don’t give a single fuck about anything except finding out if she’s okay.
The phone rings, and rings, and fucking rings before finally going to voicemail.
“Hi! You’ve reached Maisie Delac—”
“Goddamnit.” I fly off the mattress, raking a hand in frustration through my hair, shaking my head. “Answer the fucking phone, Maisie.”
I’m pacing around the living room when it continues to ring, already ready to lose my damn mind when I think it’s going again to voicemail, but then the line picks up.
“Hellooooo?” Followed by a drunken giggle and the faraway sound of music thumping in the background.
“Maisie,” I bark. “Where are you?”
She goes dead quiet.
So long that I pull back and look at the screen to make sure she hasn’t hung up.
“W… Wilder?”
I sigh. “Yes, Maisie. Where the fuck are you?”
In her email, she mentioned Rue Rouge. I think it’s a bar near campus, if it’s the same one I’ve heard the guys talk about, but I want to make sure it wasn’t a drunken typo.
“Why are you worried about where I am, Coach? You’ve made it preeeeetttty clear that you’re not interested, so don’t worry about where I am.”
This fucking girl. I’m going to bend her over my knee and spank the fuck out of her the first chance I get.
“Yeah, we’ll talk about that when you’re not drunk as fuck, prancing around a club with one of my players,” I growl, dragging a pair of sweatpants up my legs, reaching for the T-shirt I took off to try and sleep.
Not that it ever comes easily, but I hoped after the workout I put my body through tonight that exhaustion would take the course. For once, I’m glad it didn’t.
“Two.”
My brow pinches as I put my phone on speaker and set it on the counter. “Two what?”
“Two of your players. Not just one.” She giggles softly, and I imagine her covering her plump little lips with her hands, the tips of her nails a pretty shade of pink, cute and girly and dainty.
Just like her.
“Oops! Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” she murmurs, the word slightly slurred, followed by the sound of scuffling and the phone hitting something hard. A moment later, she’s back. “Dropped the phone. Oh, wow, I love your shirt. Are you a baaaaaseball player?”
Jesus fucking Christ. She’s got the self-awareness of a cat.
“Maisie. Focus. Where are you right now? Who are you with?”
Suddenly, the sound of the call ending sounds through my phone’s speaker.
What the fuck.
My fingers hover over the Call button, but before I can tap the screen, there’s an incoming FaceTime.
I can count on one hand the number of times that I’ve ever used FaceTime, and all of those times were with Camila so she could show me something that Lily was doing.
Then talk shit about me because I’m too old to work the phone.
Shaking my head, I slide my fingers across to answer, and Maisie fills the screen.
Oh fuck.
Her lips are painted pink and glossy, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol, her light blue eyes sparkling, wearing a small tiara on the top of her head that says Birthday Girl. It’s a little lopsided, but hell…
She’s breathtaking.
But that’s not what has my fingers tightening around the phone so hard that it might break into pieces.
It’s the fabric, or what little of it there is, covering her body.
“Maisie…” I mutter, hating how rough the word comes out.
She blinks rapidly, and her smile spreads as she runs a hand up the front of her dress. “What, Coach?”
It’s somewhere between yellow and golden, and it makes her sun-kissed skin nearly glow. Shimmery, likely a material that would feel like silk beneath my hands, clinging to her curves like it was painted on her. It falls far too fucking short on her upper thighs, and one shoulder is bare.
So much skin showing.
So much that I want to punch something and kiss her at the same goddamn time.
Jesus, what is happening to me?
My fingers flex, my heart racing in my chest as I blow out a breath and let my eyes flutter shut as I try not to sound like a complete and utter asshole.
She looks beautiful, the dress perfectly complementing her hair and skin.
“Happy birthday, Maisie,” I murmur, watching her fair eyebrows arch as she leans forward. She’s not holding the phone, so I’m assuming she’s got it propped up on something, probably the sink, judging by the porcelain I see.
She’s in the bathroom. Alone. Thank fuck.
The smallest sliver of relief moves through me.
“Glad you got my email.” She giggles, then pulls her plump lip between her teeth before releasing it. “I just wanted you to see exactly what you were missing out on.”
I swallow roughly, my eyes tracing her as she spins for me, the tight globes of her ass coming into view, and I almost groan out loud.
It narrowly escapes from a spot deep in my chest.
“Wanna know a seeeeecret?”
I hum in response, not trusting myself to say a goddamn word.
Maisie leans close to the camera, those blue eyes shining with mischief. “I’m not wearing any panties.”
I’m moving, my legs carrying me toward the door before she even finishes the sentence. I swipe my keys off the counter and fling the front door open, looking straight at Maisie through the screen.
“You done?”
“With what?”
My chuckle is low, and there’s not a single funny thing about it. “This little fucking game. I’m on my way to pick you up. When I get there, I suggest you come outside, or I’m going to walk into that fucking club and carry you out of it, all of my players be damned.”