Page 50 of Wicked Player

Sixteen

Gage

Idiots. They all are.

Most guys are.

But not you?

I have my moments.

I was most definitely having one of my most idiotic moments ever, in the history I could remember since I tried to use a fish aquarium to climb onto the top of a shed. My foot broke right through the glass, slicing all up and down my lower leg.

Thirty stitches later and the rest of my football at the ripe old age of twelve ruined, and I was right back to being as big of a moron as that ridiculous thrill-seeking kid.

I mean, how else was I going to see Jenny Walker’s boobs if I didn’t climb onto my shed to peer into her window?

That was how I felt, watching Elizabeth press her hand to Connor’s arm and smile at him. It was fake, but he was too self-absorbed to see it. I didn’t even want to question how I knew it was fake, but I gave credit to Brandon. I’d seen her smile with him.

Whatever she gave to Connor wasn’t anything close, but that didn’t mean shit.

She touched him.

She smiled at him and nodded and she’d agreed to something he suggested and I already knew the only thing he wanted from her.

Coupled with the smile she flashed me, I knew exactly what he offered her.

“Fuck.” I kicked my helmet on the ground and bent and snatched it up before it rolled too far.

Practice had been hell.

My week had been hell.

Ignoring Elizabeth after essentially outing myself in Brandon’s room because I was so overwhelmed with her presence and how she seemed to fitso damn perfectlyinto my life had been hell.

I didn’t relish acting like a jerk. It didn’t come natural to me and yet, I’d been a complete jerk to Elizabeth and even when I tried to stop myself, it still happened.

What voodoo magic had she bewitched me with to make me so damn twisted up over her? We’d had two sessions together. It wasn’t the sex.

Although…it was damn good sex. But it wasn’t that.

It was her going to Brandon for no damn reason other than to say hi. It was the way she talked about her brothers. It was how she asked about mine.

It was how she could defend herself, and it was her comebacks and her obedience.

It was her gasps and her teasing.

It was her confidence she’d bare herself to a man she couldn’t see and even that wouldn’t prevent her from being free to let go of control.

She was perfect for me, and every time I turned around, I was doing the exact same thing Beaux had accused me of. I was falling for a woman and for whatever reason—because even I knew all my excuses were lame—I was too damn scared to reach for her.

I stalked into the locker room and tossed my helmet to the bottom of my locker. I was undressed quickly, tugging and snapping off buckles, yanking off my shoulder pads and shoving down my pants. I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my waist, headed toward the showers.

I’d get cleaned up.

I’d figure my shit out, and then I’d figure out what to do with little Miss Hayes who had slithered into my brain and refused to leave.

“Good practice today,” Powell said to me, passing me back from the showers.

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