Page 23 of Wicked Scorn
“Off-limits, huh?” Penn says, smirking. “That’s not really our style, is it?”
“Fuck off,” I say, my voice low and lethal. The locker room is a pressure cooker, and I’m the steam screaming for release. I can smell the sweat and testosterone, the sharp tang of determination, and beneath it all, that dark, musky scent of rivalry that makes me want to claim what’s mine.
“Watch yourself, brother,” Penn says lightly, but there’s a warning there, one I’m too pissed to heed.
“Keep pushing me,” I warn, my tone promising retribution. “See what happens.”
“E-fucking-nough. Penn, stop instigating shit for once in your goddamn life,” Graham cuts in, his voice hard and annoyed. “We have a game to win.”
“Right,” I say, though it comes out more like a snarl.
“Jeremiah, you need to calm down before you do something you’ll regret,” Graham cautions, stepping in front of me to block my view of Penn’s infuriating smirk. My chest heaves with ragged breaths, and I try to force my racing thoughts into submission.
“Fuck, this is hard,” I mutter under my breath, my hands shaking with the effort it takes to restrain myself. I hate feeling this powerless, this out of control. But I can’t let my emotions dictate my actions.
I force myself to take a deep breath. Graham’s right. I can’t let this situation spiral out of control. But damn, if it doesn’t feel like everything is slipping through my fingers.
“Since when did you become so damn possessive over little Ashford?” Penn sneers from across the bench, his eyes narrowed.
“Fuck you,” I snap, my teeth gritted. “You don’t know anything about what happened between us.”
“Neither do you, apparently,” he shoots back, a smug grin playing on his lips.
“Enough,” Linc cuts in, his voice cold and commanding. “This isn’t helping anyone.”
“Let’s go do this shit,” Graham says, clapping me on the shoulder, pulling me back from the edge and nudging me toward the door that leads to thefield tunnel.
“Let’s fucking do this,” I echo, channeling all the chaos into something fierce, something that will help us crush St. Vincent’s under our cleats.
The game’s about to start, and I’m supposed to focus, but how can I when my mind is a battle zone?
“JB! Your head in the game?” Coach barks, snapping me back to the present.
“Always,” I lie through gritted teeth. The whistle blows, and with it, I’m thrust into the tunnel, ready to kill someone on the field.
Chapter 9
Oakley
My room is a sanctuary of dim, comforting light. The hallway outside is quiet, as everyone is at the game tonight. This campus breathes sports and right now football is center stage. At least I know Jeremiah is there and I don’t have to glance over my shoulder, wondering when he’s going to come in and ruin my day.
A soft breeze flutters the sheer curtains, casting playful shadows on the walls. My heart beats in sync with the ticking clock as I prepare for tonight’s cam session. The bunny mask rests in my hands, its smooth surface cool against my skin. Like a shield, a barrier between me and the world that allows me to become someone else—someone free.
I slip it on, feeling the familiar weight settle over my face, and take a deep breath. Tonight’s outfit is a blend of innocence and allure: a pastel pink dress that barely reaches my thighs, paired with white knee-high socks. Cute, yet tantalizing. Perfect. I feel sexy. I feel powerful.
And the best part is that Jeremiah would drool over my outfit.
“Now or never,” I murmur to myself, adjusting the camera. “Let’s give them a show.”
The screen lights up with notifications as I go live. Familiar names pop up in the chat, mingling with new ones. I smile, letting the thrill of anonymity wash over me. Here, I am in control.
Hey, Bunny! Looking cute tonight
One user types.
“Thank you, darling,” I reply, hoping my voice sounds sweet and inviting. The banter begins, light and playful, just as I like it.
Hey Vix, what’s your favorite guilty pleasure movie?
