Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Also by Ajay Daniel
What’s next
PROLOGUE
Every seat in the stadium is full, the fans are screaming, music is playing, and cheerleaders are dancing, but down here on the Kelly green turf, it’s just us. The players. We’re focused on the game, our visions tunneled to include only yard lines, jerseys, and the brown leather football. This is the game of the season, and every man on this field has one goal—to win.
The ball soars in my direction—well, not intended for me, but it’s my job to intercept it—so I jump as high as I can, arms fully extended. My fingertips graze the ball, just out of reach, and less than a millisecond later, another pair of hands tangles with mine, also trying to make the catch. The tipped football goes wide and falls dead on the sideline, just as the other player and I collide.
Two bodies crashing together . . .
We go down—
Arms and legs entwined . . .
—elbows and knees jabbing soft flesh, adding bruises to the ones already forming from earlier plays.
Fingertip bruises left on hips . . .
The hard ground greets my body without mercy or forgiveness, and I take a second to check myself. Toes, fingers, legs, arms, neck—all good. My helmet and mouthguard are still in place, my gloves and shoes still on. All good.
Pushing myself up with my arms, I attempt to stifle a groan. Every muscle is protesting after three quarters already passed in this game, not to mention the workout from last night—and this morning—and the exhaustion from not getting a full night’s rest. It was worth it, though.
Firm lips against mine, pressing lingering kiss after kiss, growing more frantic with every touch of our hands upon each other. Fingers drag down my chest, over my abs, a thumb flicking across my navel until I let loose a groan. My head falls back onto the mattress as I breathe his name . . .
“You good?” The masculine voice brings me back to the game.
