Page 11 of Cleat Heat

“Princess,” he practically purrs, and all the hair on my body stands on end. Shuddering with revulsion, I cling to the chocolate ice cream, sniffing deeply and trying not to admit that I wish Dash were here. “I’m so glad I caught you. Get ready. I’ll pick you up for dinner in an hour. Wear something black that shows off that tight little body of yours.”

Ugh. His orders rub me the wrong way, as always. Why did I ever let my parents push me into meeting him? It seemed easiest to just appease them at the time, but now I can’t rid myself of this Alpha-sized plague.

Spooning a little more ice cream into my mouth, I hold back a moan as it melts on my tongue. There is no way I’m going out with him—tonight or ever again. A point that I’ve driven home on numerous occasions over the last six months.

Yet, somehow, he keeps popping up.

“I can’t tonight, Marcel, and I’m pretty sure I made it clear that I’m not interested in continuing a relationship with you. I would prefer if you wouldn’t call me again,” I state, injecting my voice with as much strength and conviction as I can muster. “Or show up at my practices. Or anywhere else.”

And, of course, the bastard chuckles. He fucking chuckles, and I can practically hear the giant eye roll coming from the other end of the line.

“Oh princess, I do love it when you play hard to get. But your heat is coming, and you promised it to me.”

“I did not,” I screech with outrage, but he doesn’t even acknowledge that I spoke.

“I’ll be seeing you real soon. Be ready to present for me like a good omega should. Ass in the air, pussy dripping,” he snarls. “You wouldn’t let me knot you before, but this time it won’t be your choice.”

The dead air on the line after he disconnects is impossibly loud in its silence, and tremors work their way down my limbs.

What do I even do?

Chapter Seven

Fox

She’s not here.

She’s not fucking here.

My legs slow, barely moving as my gaze strays across the field to where the cheer team’s gathering. There’s a huge group of them, all decked in blue and white uniforms, but not a single one is Vivi. My omega.

Where. Is. She?

The need to know pulses in my temple, and suddenly, the ball in my hands becomes unimportant. I’ve been wanting to see her since the second she rushed out of here yesterday. And the only thing keeping a tether on my instincts was knowing she would be close through the whole scrimmage. Knowing we would have another shot to talk to her today.

Oomph. My teammate’s shoulder drives into my abdomen, stealing my breath and making me release the ball just as I’m about to cross into the end zone. He hits me a bit harder than I expected, but I still can’t help the excitement that courses through my body at taking the rough hit.

The lush grass underneath my body is a welcome cushion as its scent slips into my nose, making me want to sneeze. I take just a moment to lie on the ground, ready to put on quite a performance.

“Hey, man, are you okay?” my teammate asks with worry in his voice as he peers down at me between the slats of his heavy helmet. His gloved hand extends toward me, and I grasp his muscled forearm, slippery with sweat from practice.

“Think so,” I wheeze out as he tugs hard and pulls me to my feet. My body feels fine, but I put some wobble in my step as I reach up and tug at the neck of my jersey.

Hobbling toward the edge of the field, the thunder of running feet reaches my ears. The steady thrum of their jogging makes me want to giggle.

“Fox!” Ty shouts when he comes alongside me. “That didn’t look too bad. What’s hurting?”

Consciously trying to relax the muscles in my face, I turn to give him the look, flicking my eyes toward the cheerleaders to indicate my actual problem.

“Everything, man, something just feels off today. Think I might need to skip the scrimmage,” I wail, loud enough for the coaching staff to hear. Being an absolutely terrible liar, it takes a ton of willpower not to break out in a smirk, but I limp harder, trying to keep it together. Vivi isn’t practicing with the rest of the cheer squad—and I know for a fact she rarely misses a day.

Worry lodges in my gut, twisting my insides and setting my instincts on fire. She needs me. And I just can’t shake it. My eyes narrow on her little beta bestie—he knows what’s going on. I would bet my life on it. Now, I just need to get over there and force him to tell me before they leave the field.

“Oh, no, dude! That sounds bad,” he practically shouts, and one of our assistant coaches overhears, scurrying toward us as I continue to make my faux limp more pronounced.

“You keep switching legs, idiot,” he whispers, and I snort out a laugh, but quickly turn it into a painful, pathetic moan. Coach furrows his brow, looking me up and down in confusion as he gets closer.

Please buy it.

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