Page 4 of Unrivaled Love
"Our families are close."
Even if we aren’t speaking to each other, that remains true.
"Think you can introduce me?" He asks and this time I frown at the gleam in his eyes. I mean, I can’tactuallyset them up because she’s been giving me the silent treatment for nearly a decade. And if she wasn’t icing me out I would make her mine.
But then again, maybe Jo would want a man like Duncan. Maybe that’s why she bailed. I just don’t do it for her.
He's tall, for one. He's got the square jaw and dark hair thing going on. He certainly has plenty of experience when it comes to romantic entanglements.
And I might not have racked up a roster like Duncan but I would devote every cell of my being to making sure Jo was reaching new heights in my bed.
But, that’s not for me to think about. I honestly don't know what kind of men she dates. She’s not in my life but I want her to be. Even if that means as friends.
Woof.
That’s a lie.
I don’t love the sound of that at all.
"Mmhmm." I agree noncommittally. My chest burns with bile as I hum.
The last thing I want is to be “just friends” with Jo Hamilton.
I’m saved from any further discussion as the second half starts. The US keeps possession but has to bring it back into their defensive end a few times because they're unable to stage an attack.
The same thing happens in hockey. Sometimes I have to hold things behind our own net to allow for a line change, waiting for the guys to get into position before bringing it out. Starting from the back allows me to take advantage of all 125 feet to build up speed so I am a blur to the opposing team as I carry it across our blue line.
The burn in my thighs as I reach my peak speed is glorious pain.
My muscles fire as I fly out of my seat to cheer as the US finally gets a break. A Venezuelan player gets caught too far back and with a well timed kick up from the midfielder to Jo, she's off.
Her long legs move fluidly with the ball on the tips of her toes as she moves into position. She slows for a hairsbreadth and it's enough to throwher defender off balance. In hockey we call it a deke, and if you do it well it can be a wicked advantage.
Jo pounces and cuts closer to center, drawing the goalie out.
Atta girl.
I hold my breath as I see the shot unfold in real time. She launches it and it skates low before spinning up. The goalkeeper doesn't anticipate the backspin so her arm is too low and the ball sails over her shoulder.
It's in the back of the net and Jo rushes over to the corner not far from our seats. She pulls at the bottom of her jersey and the USA on the front pulls taut. Jo is probably dying to rip off her shirt like Brandi Chastain but she’s smart and wouldn’t compromise herself with the automatic yellow card.
She had a poster of that iconic image from the ‘99 World Cup on her wall growing up. Brandi was fit and Jo teased me I had a crush on her. I can admit Brandi was something to look at but I was studying the image to help me picture Jo with her shirt off. Sports bra or not, I was grateful for whatever I could get.
But then Jo lifts the bottom of her shirt to wipe her forehead of the sweat and the world around me fades away.
I'm staring at the bare stomach of the girl I've been in love with since I could identify the feeling. I haven’t seen that much skin from her since the last time I saw her. My brain flashes with memories of her under and over me and how fucking soft her freckled skin was under my palms.
Sweat breaks out along my spine and my hands get clammy.
A clap on my shoulder rips me from my sordid trip down memory lane. I swallow the lump in my throat before cheering with my friends.
I glance back down at the field as she rights her jersey and looks up towards the family suite. We’re fifty yards from each other but I lean a little to my left hoping I can sneak into her line of sight. Begging the forces of The Universe to nudge her emerald eyes in my direction.
Instead I watch as she smiles, hugs her teammates, and returns to position for the kick off.
Chapter 2
Jo
