Page 98 of Game On
She laughs, cheeks flushed from the exertion. “Years of practicing routines, remember?”
“Right, of course. Should have known you’d be good at this, too.”
Her smile widens, and our eyes lock. There’s a spark there that I’ve come to know, come to appreciate all too well. Sweat glistens on her sun-kissed skin. As the song shifts to something lower, less upbeat, I pull her in closer.
Her hands find their way to my shoulders, fingers gripping lightly as I twirl her. I can’t tear my eyes away—the way she moves, the way she breathes. The way she’s looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
There’s something more here, more than either of us has been willing to admit. This isn’t just fun anymore.
The song stops, and before I can second-guess it, I lean in and capture her lips with mine. It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s fierce, hungry, driven by a need I didn’t fully recognize until now. Her hands are in my hair, my fingers tracing the curve of her waist.
Her tongue dips out, an invitation for me to deepen the kiss. To claim more of her. She curls into me, my cock swelling against her. And for once, I’m free from any thoughts that don’t involve this moment between us.
Ella has pulled me out of my shell in a way I didn’t think possible. I’ve spent months trying to keep her at arm’s length, and I’ve failed. I know I’m breaking one of her only rules here. I know I’m crossing a line she’s set, but I can’t bring myself to give a damn.
Not if it means I get to taste her whiskey-laced lips, feel the warmth of her body right here, right now. Exactly when I need to.
I pull back slightly, looking for any sign of hesitation in her eyes. And when I see it there—a tiny hint of confusion, of potential regret—it pulls me up short. I want more, I want everything, but I can’t push her. Not yet.
Instead, I rest my forehead against hers, and we stand there together. My gut is telling me to stay silent, to let the moment breathe. So, I do.
“You weren’t supposed to do that,” she eventually murmurs, her arms still looped around my neck.
“Do what?”
“Kiss me like that,” she says, and I wonder how one person can hold the entire universe in her eyes. “Kiss me at all, I mean, when we’re in public.”
“Yeah, darlin’, I know.”
“But you did it, anyway.”
“Sometimes,” I say roughly, “we have to break the rules if we want to win the game.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Ella
“Let’s go, Whitland! Let’s go!” Our voices ring out, a chorus of overwrought cheers. We’re ringing in the new year at Caesars Superdome in the heart of New Orleans. It’s the largest venue I’ve ever cheered in, even grander than the Nissan Stadium.
We’re in a bustling city, one that’s alive with music and magic, but all I can think about is Hudson.
The game is in its final, tense moments. The Chargers’ defense is relentless, and Hudson’s facing an uphill battle. My eyes track him constantly. He’s giving it everything he’s got, weaving through the opposing team with a mix of determination and grit.
Harlen’s out there, too, running back with lightning speed, trying to break through the defense. Marcus and Cade, our linebackers, hold the line.
The team as a whole is fierce and unyielding. But despite their best efforts, the Chargers’ lead remains. Each time the score inches higher in their favor, the hope in our stands diminishes, replaced by a collective groan of despair.
With seconds left on the clock, Hudson launches a final, desperate Hail Mary pass. The ball arcs through the air, a perfect spiral, but it’s intercepted just before the end zone. The final whistle blows, and the reality of our loss sinks in.
Whitland’s done. The dream of a Sugar Bowl victory evaporates.
The field is a flurry of activity, players shaking hands, some dropping to their knees in defeat. I scan for Hudson, my heart clenching. I want to rush to him, to offer some sort of comfort, but I’m stuck here on the sidelines, my role demanding a cheerful facade despite the heartbreak.
Our squad gathers, forced smiles and encouraging words, but it’s all hollow. I can’t shake the worry. The truth is, I’m growing impossibly fond of that man. I think about him all the time in all the ways that I shouldn’t.
It’s not just about sex for me anymore—our heated chemistry and whispered nights—but we have rules. Rules that I made.
Yet all this time we’re spending together, the holidays I’ve enjoyed with his family, have forced me to confront what I’ve been lacking. The warmth of their home, the love they share, it’s something I’d never truly experienced before. Yet something I’ve come to adore.
