Page 63 of Game On
She closes her eyes. “You said my name again.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Unfortunately, a common hazard in the workplace.”
She cracks a lazy smile, her eyes still closed. “Mmm, don’t think you can get away with it that easily.”
“Was just an accident,” I protest, the corner of my mouth twitching up in a half-grin as my hand trails down to the small of her back. “Besides, from the first night we spent together … I seem to recall a different set of rules.
“Things have changed.”
“Or maybe,” I muse aloud, pulling her closer so she’s flush against me, “I’ve got you real worried.”
She opens one eye, gives me a skeptical look. “About?”
“The sex is just too good between us. You might get obsessed.”
Her hazel eyes narrow at me. “You’re awfully confident.”
“Well,” I reply, moving a stray piece of hair from her face, “I do happen to be quite good at what I do. Football, cheer …”
“Okay, I’ll give you that,” she concedes before pressing a soft kiss to my chest. “But only because I’m too damn tired to argue.”
“You know what?” I ask with a laugh. “I’ll take it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Ella
It’s been a week since my and Hudson’s night together in the Lexington hotel. Since then, our communication has been limited, except for a text the next day that just said “5 stars,” and a quick hair tug in our anthro class. His football season is ramping up, and I get that he’s busy, but I’m not sure how to approach the situation from this angle.
I don’t know if I should text him, ask if he’s coming to Skyline again soon. Or if I should wish him good luck for his game tomorrow. Or, in the meantime, if I should just pretend nothing happened at all.
I’m new to this stringless thing. I want him, but I don’t know how to say that without sounding desperate.
Gabi says I need to carry on with business as usual. And when I have the urge to meet up, I simply ask him—no expectations, no complications. It sounds easy enough, like shifting gears to detach emotions from actions.
I shake off any lingering doubts to refocus on the here and now. The familiar scent of the gym, the sound of squeaking trainers, and the rhythmic thud of bodies hitting mats—it’sgrounding. I’m mid-stretch when the sound of approaching footsteps pulls me back. I don’t need to look up to know who’s joining me.
“Hey, El.” Ash grins, plopping down on the mat beside me. “How’s it going?”
“Peachy,” I say, managing a small smile as I reach further into my hamstring stretch. “How about you?”
“Excellent. I’ve been plotting for Daytona,” he announces, his grin widening.
That gets my attention. I pause mid-stretch, intrigued. “Oh? Tell me more.”
“Yeah, already cleared it with Coach Morgan,” he says, clearly pleased with himself. “We’re officially entering.”
“We are?” A bubble of excitement mixes with my nerves. “I’ve been biting my nails over the deadline.”
He chuckles. “January fourteenth. Got it memorized?”
“Like the back of my hand.”
Here’s the kicker, though—to qualify means to submit a video for partner stunts by that date. It’s a big deal, a slice of the competitive spirit I thrive on. For those forty-five seconds of tape, we have to be flawless. And while the full team will gear up after winter break, partner stunts need a sharper, earlier focus.
“Morgan said four pairs from Whitland are throwing their hats in the ring,” he says. “Claire and Evan, of course. But also Paige, Tailor, Cove, and Malik. We’ll start doing extra practices to make sure we’re ready.”
The thought of competing, of performing partner stunts on a stage like Daytona’s, pushes some of the fog from mymind. There’s something concrete to focus on, a welcome distraction from everything else.
