Page 94 of By His Rule

“Just do as you’re told, Temptress,” he rasps back.

Fire burns through me and I storm after him.

“What did you just call me?”

He spins around and holds my eyes as if I’m the crazy one here.

“Tempest. Your name, Lorelei.” He says the words with so much confidence that I question my own hearing.

Shaking my head, I drop my eyes to the bag in my hands.

Reaching inside, I pull out the fabric hiding inside and hold it up.

“What the?—”

“We watched your brother’s game. Now we’re going to do the same for mine.”

I stare down at the Chicago Chiefs jersey in my hands with my head spinning out of control.

“Y-you’re taking me to watch a football game?” I ask in complete bafflement.

“Yes, Lorelei. I’m taking you to watch a football game.”

“You know I don’t actually like football, right?”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. We’re there to support Kieran.”

I’m speechless. Utterly fucking speechless.

“The game starts at four thirty, and I’d quite like to be there before then,” he says, making a show of glancing at his watch.

“Y-you’re?—”

“Taking you to watch a football game. Yes, Lorelei. Is there another way you need me to explain it to you?”

“B-but why?”

“Because I am, okay? Now stop questioning me and go and get ready.”

Unable to come up with any kind of argument to get myself out of this—not that I think any would be good enough—I spin on my heels and march toward my bedroom, clutching the jersey in my hands with a death grip.

It’s not until I kick my bedroom door behind me that I suck in some much-needed air.

Kian Callahan is standing in my living room, waiting to take me to a football game. What fucking universe is this?

And more importantly, why am I even considering going?

He’s right. He did watch Wilder’s game with me. I owe Kieran, right?

Before I can talk myself in circles, I strip out of my running clothes, pull my shower cap on—because I do not have time to deal with that—and step into the shower.

“This is a really bad idea, Lorelei,” I tell myself as I stand in front of my floor-length mirror, staring at the name plastered across my back.

Of course Kian couldn’t bring me just any Chicago Chiefs jersey. Oh no, he had to bring me one with “Callahan” splashed across it.

Sure, as my boss, he may have some kind of ownership of me right now, but this is taking it to a whole new level.

I. Am. Wearing. His. Name.

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