Page 52 of Scoring His Obsession

No matter how much I touch myself or will my body to give in, it doesn’t.

Idon’t.

I can’t even blame myself. Why settle for my imagination when the person I want is in the other room?

Micah

The night visioncamera feeds an image of a frustrated Raeann back to me. My balls hurt. I’m so hard I could probably fuck a cement block right now, but I wanther. I told myself putting in this camera was for security purposes—Raeann’s safety is my top priority—but even then, I think I knew I’d end up using it to watch her like this.

“Soon,” I promise her.

She isn’t ready yet. She doesn’t want to believe, to give in.

Raeann groans, finally giving up. Flipping to her side, she pulls up the covers and hunkers down, unsatiated.

A small smile creeps over my lips. At least her body isn’t on her side.

I need her to realize she wants me as much as I want her. Her questions tonight said as much. The taunting. Asking me about that dick-having employee of hers and then smiling to herself when she liked my answers.

She’ll realize I’m end game soon enough, and then I’ll give her all the dick she could ever want.

14

Micah

My headphones drown out the white noise of the airplane. The first few notes of a song play in my ears, and I’m already searching for another one. I’d usually be asleep by now. Instead, the idea that this metal box is taking me away from my heart at a rate of approximately five hundred miles per hour—according to the screen in front of me—has me alert and on edge. My gut pulls taut. I can’t get comfortable. None of my go-to songs are doing it for me. My brain is in a perpetual state of Raeann, Raeann, Raeann.

What is she doing?

Is she hurt?

Mad?

She pulled away after the botched attempt at spending the night. It’s possible she thought I came on a little too strong, but everything I said was true and maybe about sixty-five percent as intense as I could be. As I want to be. Nothing has stolen my heart like she did, and when I feel something like that, I’m all in with one hundred percent focus.

I can be a madman of intensity. It was like that with football. From the first time I ran onto the field, I knew I was born to play the game. I used to show up at my peewee coach’s doorstep asking for extra practice, but I would settle for tips or tricks.

I was in love. Football was my entire personality. Every gift I received was football related. Every spare moment was reading about football or watching games—old or new, it didn’t matter.

When I got older, I became a student of the game. Lucky for me, my varsity coach was as intense as I was. He saw the potential in me and steered me in directions that made me the player I am today.

Until Raeann, not another thing has caught my attention like that. When she finally fell asleep that night, frustrated, I walked out into the main part of the house to find her phone. The knowledge that I would have to leave Nashville for long stretches of time hadn’t sat well with me since I met her, so I’d researched tracking apps. Myself, of course. It turns out, Joey doesn’t have the personality for obsessing.

Disappointing, actually. He’s very good at every other thing.

I don’t regret downloading the app to her phone either. It’s already come in handy several times. Like now, when no other sound will do but her sweet twang, I push the microphone button and listen in. Since she spent the night, we’ve only skirted around each other in texts with niceties and formalities. Now, I can hear her when I want to. Unfortunately for me, nothing comes through but a little bit of feedback and…a radio? A song that I don’t think she would listen to.

My jaw locks up tight. I quickly switch to the tracking portion of the app and find her dot traveling down Park Ave. She must be in a rideshare. Fingers heavy with tension, I stare down at the screen where I have an open text to her. I’ve already asked her everything I can think of since seeing her after the game. Her grandfather got home okay and is telling all of his buddies abouthow he sat in a “first class seat” at the stadium. Athena is still adorable. Tab is salivating over our relationship status.

What’s a text I can send to make sure she’s safe but said in a way where I wouldn’t know exactly what she’s doing?

Then, I get a notification through my credit card company.

I click on the band of text saying I spent $369 at…Oh, Raeann. What did you do?

This is not my credit card. It’s the one I added for her.

Spice Central, $369. Sitting up, I press on my browser and search Spice Central. A sex toy business, apparently.

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