Page 77 of Undeniably

V shrugs. “I’m sure he’ll knock me up again as soon as I let him.”

I tune the girls out and watch the players warm up; it’s easy to find number three. He’s doing his routine with the rest of his teammates. I see my parents come in and take a seat a little ways down from us.

When he finishes up, I can’t help but yell to him. “Yates. Looking hot. Better win me a game.”

His eyes find mine, and he gives me a smirk. He says something to Reed before running off the field towards me.

I glance back to Reed, who just shakes his head. I walk towards the fence to talk to him.

“You look sexy as fuck, Wright. If I had known my number would look so good on you, I would have had you wearing it all season.”

I beam at his compliment. “Who said I wanted to wear your number then?”

“Is running off the field before a game a common thing for you?” Sage questions beside me.

His eyes flash to hers before coming back to mine. “Only when there’s something worth doing it for,” he says, making me blush.

“Keaton,” Reed calls, having gotten fed up with waiting.

“Gotta go. Give me a kiss for good luck?” His smile is challenging.

I lean over the bars. “I would if I could reach you.”

He doesn’t hesitate; he jumps up onto the bars, pulling himself up easily. He kisses me softly on the lips twice before whispering to me, “Wait for me after.”

I nod numbly. Chuckling, he presses a third and final kiss to my lips before rushing back to the field.

“Damn, that was hot,” Sage breathes out.

“Still think he doesn’t have feelings for you?” Tinsley asks.

“You think that boy doesn’t have feelings for you?” Victoria says. “Shit, the only other girl he has let wear is jersey is Sage, and that was a ploy to piss Reed off.”

“Oh, and it did,” Sage says wistfully. “The way he demanded I take it off before kissing me senseless. Then he gave me his own jersey. That was the turning point, I think.”

“Ew. That’s my brother you are talking about.” Tinsley turns to me, pointing a finger. “I don’t want to know the details about Keaton either. I love you guys, but no.”

We all laugh. “No worries. I don’t kiss and tell. But I didn’t say I don’t think he had feelings for me. It’s just going to take some getting used to.”

They all give me disbelieving looks but drop it.

Once the game starts, the chitchat stops, all of us invested in the game.

I might not have watched lacrosse in years, but I still remember the game. I stand and scream when we score. I yell louder when Keaton is killing it, which he always is. I yell at the refs when they make a terrible call.

At one point, I almost climbed over the bars to the field when someone slashed Keaton.

In the last seconds, the game is tied. I watch as each player fights for this win. It’s obvious they all want it. Who wouldn’t?

I focus back on Keaton. I drill holes into him while he moves efficiently and effectively on the field.

You have this. You can do this. You’re going to win.

I keep sending all the good thoughts and prayers his way. It’s not until he scores with a behind-the-back shot, making the winning goal, that I burst out in excitement.

“Yes. Fucking yes. I knew he could do it,” I say to no one in particular as I turn away from the field, running my hands through my hair.

“Incoming.”

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