Page 100 of Vying Girls
‘What else would we do?’
‘Dunno, warmups?’
Nic smiles, more of a smirk. ‘Alright. Five laps then.’
I shoot her a look.
‘It’s fine.’ She waves a hand. ‘Walk over was enough. Let’s just get on.’
Jogging to the side of the pitch, she kicks some abandoned cones into place. ‘That’s my goal, that’s yours.’
I nod, willing my competitive streak to surface. Fucking daytime naps. They’re a killer.
When she gives the signal, I launch forward, not quick enough to secure the ball as she spins it in the direction of her goal.
I give a breathless tut, her long legs eating the distance and easily sending the ball soaring through the cones.
‘One-nil,’ she declares quietly.
‘Yeah.’ I run a hand through my hair, heart pounding with the sudden exertion. ‘I got that.’
She gives my stick an aggressive tap as she falls back into position.
‘Would it help if I was further away?’ she asks tauntingly. ‘Gave you the ball first?’
‘Yeah, actually, it would.’
She sails it my way. I catch it with my stick, eyes bouncing between the turf and Nic a few paces ahead. She pauses with her stick leant against her, dragging both hands through her hair as she slips on a headband. It opens her up, making her human, not helping at all with the tongue-tied thing. I take back what I thought the night of the storm. She is fucking pretty, especially when she’s not hiding herself.
She takes up her stick again when she’s done, a distinct glint in her eyes and a smile, a fucking teeth-showing, face-lightingsmile.
And it’s not just my clit pulsing this time, but my bloody heart.
My stomach caves in, breath fled from my lungs.
Shit. Fuckingshit.
I watch her advance on me with wide eyes. My feet are stuck to the ground, the whole of me feeling like stone apart from this wild, ecstatic galloping in my chest.
Really?Her?
But—
I have no chance to finish that thought before she’s on me, tackling me dirty, sending me flying backwards onto the turf. I whack my head, hard, the wind knocked out of me.
My vision dims for a scary moment, mouth goldfishing as I try desperately to take in oxygen. I hear Nic curse, then she’s on her knees, eyes flitting over my prone body. There’s no smile on her face now. She’s wearing the same expression she had the night she smashed the glass room.
It’s becoming familiar, these little cracks in her armour. If she’s not careful, I’m going to start thinking she cares about me.
I don’t care about you, Tilda, you stupid fuck.
I run the line over and over in my head. It’s perversely steadying. Known. Reliable. Nothing like this desperately unwanted revelation. I concentrate on the pain in my skull, the idea that I might haemorrhage and die or something.
‘We need to get you to the nurse.’
‘I’m literally fine.’
‘We don’t fuck with head injuries. You know what Coach says.’
