Page 14 of Shadowed Whispers

She smirks. “We’ve been dating since June.”

“Congratulations.” I swallow my pride and grab my wallet. The trusty watch on my wrist says that it’s almost three. “Good luck with that. I have to work.”

Spinning on a heel, I swallow all of my emotions, all my hurt and pain, especially as Bishop’s words, the last ones he ever said to me, kiss my conscience.

Open your eyes, Frankie. You’re out of your depth, a nobody trying to play in a league she doesn’t even comprehend. You’re nothing—weak, ordinary, and utterly forgettable. I can’t waste another minute on you.

Chapter 5

Leo

“Two weeks, man.” I pivot toward Matteo, sauntering off the field with him and our fellow players. Sweat drips down my face, mingling with the dust stirred up by our cleats, splattering on the sunbaked ground. It’s pointless to wipe it off. The heat is relentless, unlike the biting cold of our home.

Matteo doesn’t immediately reply, just looks over at me, his dark eyes appearing like coal against the fiery backdrop of the setting sun. His hair, equally dark and buzzed short like mine, is slick with sweat, but Teo doesn’t wipe the sweat off or even react to my words. He’s listening though. He always listens. I learned that lesson early on when we first became friends.

“Think the team will be ready for the first scrimmage?” I ask as I glance at the setting sun. Its orange hues paint the horizon, casting long shadows that merge with the silhouettes of the ancient stone structures surrounding the field. It’s hot here, while home is colder, harsher, and more rigid, but when spots opened up here, we took them despite swearing we’d never come—mostly to spite our legacy parents—yet here we are, drawn by the unknown and, of course, rugby, which is our first and only love.

“No,” he replies, his voice a rich, dark timbre that resonates with tangible sincerity. Matteo seldom speaks, but each word he utters is weighted with meaning, like the rarest of dark chocolates—decadent and utterly irresistible.

I fiddle with the ball, tossing it from hand to hand, struggling against the urge to fill the silence with trivial chatter. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s hard to gauge with these guys.” My eyes scan our teammates now dispersing toward the locker rooms. The field, nestled on the island’s edge, is bordered by quaint stone structures and a towering wall, presumably a safeguard against the sea. “We need team building.”

Matteo’s response is a noncommittal grunt.

As we walk off the field, the sound of cleats against the gravel path is drowned out by the cheers of the spectators for rugby. It’s such a strange concept here, but I’m not mad about it. The cheerleaders, dressed in black and red uniforms, line up, their presence a vivid splash of color against the drab stones. Their skirts, short enough to reveal that sweet little section of thigh that draws the eye and long enough to keep one guessing, flutter slightly in the gentle breeze.

“You two are new,” a voice calls, commanding our attention. A statuesque redhead with a large black bow in her hair, stands confidently with one hip provocatively jutted out as she clutches a stainless steel water bottle. Her pose is as calculated as it is captivating, her eyes sparkling with a mix of curiosity and challenge.

I give her my biggest and brightest smile, the kind that usually disarms or dazzles, and toss the ball to Teo as I walk toward the group of girls.

“Ladies,” I greet, spreading my arms in a grand gesture of welcome, Matteo trailing behind with a mix of reluctance and intrigue. Nearby, our teammates engage in their own flirtations, each interaction woven with the promise of unexplored connections. “You look positively sinful in those uniforms,” I declare, the words dripping with charm yet laced with a hint of roguish sincerity.

The moment her palm makes contact with my sweat-drenched chest, I can’t help but wonder if she finds the dampness off-putting. Her gaze leisurely trails down the length of my body before it snaps back up to meet mine, a spark of interest igniting in her eyes. For a fleeting instant, she morphs into someone else in my mind’s eye—Frankie, the beauty I had the fortune of encountering earlier, with her haunting hazel eyes, alabaster skin, and hair as dark as the midnight sky laced with fiery streaks of red. As quickly as the vision appears, though, it dissipates, leaving only the redhead before me.

“Chloe,” she says, not bothering to hold out her hand.

Beside her, a brunette with a knowing smirk in her eyes, sizes up Matteo. I should tell her not to bother, but she’ll figure it out quickly if he’s interested. He’s like a bulldog. When he isn’t, he will brush her off, coldly I might add.

“Leo,” I offer in return, my name hanging between us, charged with an unspoken invitation.

“Are you ready for the first game?” the smaller brunette asks, her eyes glued to Teo’s thighs. It’s the thighs every damn time.

“No.” Teo glares at the poor girl before turning to me with a raised brow. I know what he’s secretly communicating. They probably have herpes, and I don’t mess with crazy.

That is a total lie. He is absolutely attracted to crazy, just not valley girl cheerleader crazy, more like the stabby kind of crazy. The kind of girl who won’t hesitate to protect herself kind of crazy.

I give him a look back as if to say, crazy is still crazy, and I’m new here, so I might as well get to know them or at least their names.

“You guys looked great out there,” the brunette coos.

“This is Amanda, and Tori is the blond running a lap around the field.” Chloe rolls her eyes at her friend. I follow her gaze to the woman running around the field in her uniform.

“Love a girl who knows how to exercise,” I murmur before turning back to the redhead. It’s all about cardio and endurance. For a split second, I catch a flicker of jealousy.

Well, that won’t do. Can’t have jealousy.

“A bunch of us are going into the city after sunset,” Chloe says. “With it being the first night for those of us in sports, we like to get together and get to know each other.” Her meaning is clear. Well, I wouldn’t mind that at all.

“The bridge closes early.” Teo hands the ball back to me and crosses his arms, his glare clearly stating his disdain for these girls. What a shame. I love teaming up with him, the thrill of our competitive streaks sync on the field, but his mood sours a bit at the prospect of extending the interaction off field.

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