Page 3 of Play Dirty
Dirty.
I lift my chin, my lashes brush against my cheeks, and I freeze when I meet his gaze. Light brown eyes collide with mine. And something snaps, not sure what you would call the feeling when you meet someone, and it’s instant recognition.
“You should watch where you’re going.”
“What?” I snap. “You should watch where you are going, not me.”
Not realizing my hand is still on his skin, resting right on his inked spider, I feel the warmth of his skin. Inhaling the same air, he scoffs with a slight roll of his eyes and brushes off my hand with one swipe of his, as if my touch is fire.
“You bumped into me, Blondie,” he says with a crooked smirk, deepening a dimple on his right cheek. “Not the other way around.”
“I did not.”
“Yeah, you did. And with red staining your cheeks.” Leaning closer, his warm breath caresses my skin. “You like what you see, beautiful?”
Taking two steps back, I put distance between myself and the asshole in front of me who acts like I should thank him, as if I owe him something. Yet I’m speechless. Butterflies dance to the erratic sound of my heart as he takes one step forward.
I swear he sucks up all of the oxygen on the field.
And, what’s worse than the smug look on him is the way my eyes drift down his toned abs, fixating on his happy trail and the way his soccer shorts hang too low.
Why isn’t he wearing a shirt?
A jersey?
Instead, he’s flexing his muscles, accentuating his V-cut– I shake my head, snapping myself out of my thoughts. I become dangerously aware of how he is looking at me. It makes my skin tingle and my lungscrave more air. I need more; my heart beats rapidly, sending surges of warmth through me. Like a warning. It’s not fear I feel, but fascination.
It feels as if we have met before, yet this is our first time.
“Cheer up. You’re too pretty to cry.” The words catch me by surprise. Then, with a wink, he brushes away a stray tear that slips down my cheek and jogs off in the direction of the soccer pitch. I can’t seem to tear my eyes away. My cheek is still warm, tingling with the ghost of his touch. It takes me longer than I want to admit to compose myself and meet up with my friends. However, with each step closer, I can feel the negative emotions roll off me, making it easier to breathe…
To exist.
The coach’s whistle cuts through the air. Using my hand to shield my eyes from the sun, I spot Tati and June. Both are holding up a sign that reads. “Go, future Sirens.”
Joy spreads through me, and Asher dumping me becomes a problem for another day. Today, I can simply exist with no expectations and be with my best friends. Doing what we do best, checking out hot athletes as they get all sweaty on the field.
From the corner of my eye, I watch as the guy with the spider tattoo chest bumps the ball and passes it to Thiago. His muscular and defined chest glistens with sweat. They move in sync, as if they’ve done it before. The others try to get the ball from Thiago but fail. Using the inside of his foot, he launches the ball to his left, where Mr. Spiderman is waiting. He catches it with ease. He plays like a man who has everything to lose. Unlike the regular players, he plays like he has something to prove, and that’s what separates him from the rest. He passes the ball to Ezra and then launches it into the goal. For a moment, our eyes clash, and he winks at me before giving a high five to another player and focusing back on his game.
“Shiloh, here.” June waves. Tati has already put down the sign and is back on her phone, while my attention remains focused on thestranger playing on the field. A smile spreads across my face as a seed blooms inside my mind. Not waiting a moment longer before I pull out my phone and call the only person who can make anything happen. My dad.
Thankfully, he picks up after the first ring. “Princess, can I call you back?”
“Daddy, you trust my eyes, don’t you?”
“What now, princess?”
“I think I found your next player,” He chuckles on the phone, a sound that tells me that what I want is already mine.
Mine.
I look down at my hand as if branded by his touch and smile. The fascination wraps around me like a vice, one I want to try at least once. “I’ll send you a picture. Ciao.”
I walk towards the bleachers after ending the call with my dad. Tucking my phone away, my fingers find their way to the spot where he touched me.
Still warm. Still tingling.
As our little interaction replays vividly in my head.
