9. Hunter
Nine
Hunter
There was a storm raging in my head, wrecking every coherent thought, tearing and shredding through every resemblance of normalcy I had left.
I thought getting her into my personal space, even if only briefly, and being able to touch her would curb some of my desire.
I’d been wrong. So fucking wrong.
This never happened. I operated on logic, on facts. I could count the times I’d been wrong on my own two fucking hands.
But here we were, and I was craving her even worse now. Some kind of fucked-up floodgates had opened, and now instead of not wanting to be touched at all, I wanted her to touch me.
Constantly.
The locker room around me was buzzing with the kind of controlled chaos and raw focus only present right before a game.
Music was blasting from someone’s speaker, our team’s designated hype playlist, accompanied by Velcro tearing, tape unrolling and sharp curses, grunts, and laughter.
The smell of clean laundry collided with old gear funk, Gatorade powder, and the sting of menthol.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Knox sit down to tie his shoes, the way he always did on game days. He was absolutely convinced it made a difference.
I refrained from letting him in on the fact that it only made a difference because he was shit at tying his shoes the normal way, and this was the only way he was able to do it correctly.
Everybody had different strengths, I guess.
Bowing my head again, I realized my leg was bouncing. Huh.
A habit I only recently adopted whenever my thoughts locked on Ella.
Especially the way she looked that night, how her tight body had pressed against mine, scorching and soothing all at once.
I’d almost lost control, and I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to restrain myself.
The muffled roar of the crowd outside was growing, and when it was time to finally head outside, we gathered in a circle, knocking our helmets as Craig, our captain, held his obligatory speech.
Jax struck up our chant. “THIS OUR HOUSE!”
“OUR NAME! OUR GAME!” The team responded with a deafening roar as we began our run down the tunnel.
As soon as my feet hit the turf, I was scanning the stands. It was nearly impossible to spot anyone in the roaring mass, but Ella wasn’t just anyone after all.
I knew roughly in which section she’d be, and thankfully her hair was vivid enough to make her stand out.
My jaw ticked as I registered all the men around her, way too close for comfort. The thought of one of them chatting her up, hitting on her, here of all places, made me see red.
She should only be watching me. Chewing on my mouth guard like a maniac, I swiftly marched to the bench, silent fury fueling my every muscle.
Guess I just had to make the game interesting enough to keep her attention on me.
The defense was called up, and I slid into my spot at cornerback, lined up across from their top receiver. I was locked in, shadowing him like he was the only man on this fucking field.
She was in my head, and I played like I had something to prove.
Whenever my eyes snapped back to Ella in the stands, her eyes were locked on the field. My heart was thrumming with satisfaction and pride.
My breath was rasping against the inside of my face mask as the crack of pads colliding rang out, dulled under the sharp pulse of adrenaline racing through my body.
The shouts from the sidelines faded whenever I caught a flash of her shimmering, vivid hair.
“I don’t know what lit a fire under your ass, but remind me to stay out of your way,” Jax mumbled as he shuffled past me, clearly noticing something was different.
They had no idea how different. No idea what kind of major effort it had been to keep myself in check for months now and how close I was to breaking.
My thoughts were pinballing, two things battling for focus. The playbook was in one half of my head. Ella in the other.
I needed to cut off their outside route.
I needed to cut off the guy two rows behind her who kept leaning too close.
She was in the stands, and I couldn’t fucking touch her. So I drove my shoulder through their receiver instead. A neat hit. Clean. Almost beautiful in its brutality.
Let her see what it looked like when I was done holding back.
My teeth clamped down on my mouth guard as I watched the receiver opposite me, his line set up in a spread formation. They thought they could isolate me one-on-one.
We were in the third quarter now, and the game was tight. The score wasn’t reflecting how fucking hard we’d worked.
Their wide receiver thought he was fast, and I almost wanted to snort when I watched his twitchy little ass. I’d seen this fucking route in my sleep.
“You gonna actually hit me this time, freak?” he chirped.
I cocked my head to the side. “Better hope I don’t.”
The ball was snapped, and the wide receiver took off. Stutter-step, then right into a slant.
I broke on the ball with full speed, zero fucking hesitation.
Bringing my shoulder down, I read his route. Timing was everything, and I was on fucking top of it.
Hitting the receiver mid-route with perfect form, the loud crack of our pads crashing into each other was drowned out by the roar of the crowd as the ball popped loose.
I cast a glance at the ref as I jumped up. No flag on the play, and the guys on the bench were losing it.
They knew better than to swarm me or touch me excessively. I wasn’t the type for big celebrations on the field anyway.
She saw that.
I know she did.
The fierce surge of victory coursing through me as I felt her eyes on me after this play went beyond the scoreboard.
My lips pulled into a grin beneath my helmet, an uncharacteristic move for me on the field, and I was sure I looked almost feral, but Ella was watching me, and it couldn’t be contained.
I was locked in, eyes burning beneath my helmet. The crowd noise melted away. All I could see was the field and my girl.
Every play I tore into was fueled by my obsession. It wasn’t just about defending this turf; it was about marking my territory and silently claiming something nobody else should dare touch.
The offense lined up. Taking my stance, I felt my muscles twitch in anticipation as my eyes flicked from side to side, trying to get a read on my opponents.
I could smell the sweat and adrenaline, could hear the snap echoing in my ears.
Dom was in my periphery, always a little too loose, always a little too wild. I hated that sometimes. His recklessness was a liability, and yet I recognized some part of myself in him.
We were polar opposites, but the way he was chasing Sierra made me question if maybe I wasn’t the only one hiding my crazy.
Snap . Dom took a breath — too long.
The opposing player he was covering slipped through the edge. Dom was chasing after him, but not fast enough.
Fuck .
I exploded forward, the muscles in my legs screaming, and slammed into the runner with a full-body dive, nearly ripping the dude’s legs out from under him just short of the end zone.
Goddamn.
I didn’t spare Dom a glance, but I muttered something under my breath, just loud enough for him to hear, “Keep playing like you’re daydreaming about your girl, and I swear I’ll knock you back to JV.”
He roared with laughter, like he wasn’t scared of me at all.
“Relax,” he said. “Needed the guy to think he had hope. Makes it more fun when I break him.”
I didn’t answer, but I knew I didn’t have to. That had been a one-off. Dom might’ve been cocky, but he had the skills to back it up.
My goal was to own every second she spent watching.
This game wasn’t just a game.
It was mine.