I pull my phone out again, hoping for an explanation as to why Daire requested my presence, but the screen is blank. Blowing out a breath, I lean against the wall and settle in.

“Thanks for waiting with me.”

“You are my ride,” Bertie points out.

A little chuckle escapes me. “And I promise I’ll get you home and tucked into bed soon.”

She bumps my hip with hers. “I appreciate it.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to hang out as much.”

Smiling, she turns to face me and leans a shoulder against the wall. “It’s okay.”

It doesn’t feel like it is. Not to me, anyway.

I want to say more. To promise I’ll make time with her more of a priority, but before I can, the locker room door opens, catching our attention. Justin, the team captain, heads over to his girlfriend. He wraps an arm around her waist and buries his face in her neck. She laughs and pushes him back gently with a hand on his chest. Love radiates off both of them.

A stupid pang of jealousy hits me.

Is it selfish that I want that? A guy who’s obsessed with me? A love that’s real?

A lump forms in my throat.

All I’ve ever wanted is to love and be loved in return.

A couple more guys head out, some ignoring the gathering as they stride by. A few guys hang back and approach the group of girls. Giggles ensue, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. To think I was ever that ridiculous makes me want to throw up.

Finally, Daire emerges. At the sight of him, my breath catches. His blond hair is damp from the shower and a shade darker than normal. Denim blue eyes fix on me almost immediately. Face serious, jaw set, he stalks toward me.

I hold my breath, and my heart thumps against my sternum. What the hell is with the look?

“Whoa,” Bertie whispers. Is she as taken aback by his intensity as I am?

He loops his arm around my neck and pulls me in with so much force I practically fall into his chest, fingers splaying over his shirt. Half a heartbeat later, his mouth descends on mine. Unprepared for the kiss, I freeze the second our lips touch.

He hasn’t kissed me since we exchanged vows—why would he?—but now he kisses me like a man returning from war, desperate to reestablish a connection with the love of his life. It’s the way I’ve always dreamed of being kissed. He runs his tongue along the seam of my lips, urging me to open up to him.

I shouldn’t, dammit, but my body responds to him in a way it never has with anyone else. The heat of him seeps into me as he holds me close. I swear he’s an actual, human furnace.

Every time he pulls back slightly, I expect him to sever our connection, but he just dives back in, practically devouring me.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I should put an end to this.

Whyis he kissing me? Obviously, it’s not because he wants to. So what’s his ulterior motive?

When he finally does release me, I’m embarrassingly out of breath.

He presses a tender kiss to the top of my head as I cling to him, steadying myself. The gesture is far too sweet to have come from the guy who doesn’t like me.

“I missed you, babe.” He nuzzles his nose against mine. “Longest game of my life.”

What is he playing at?

“I missed you too.”

“I have a few things to finish up here, and then I’ll see you at home.” He leans in, and in a hushed tone that’s still loud enough to be overheard, he says, “Be wearing that black lacy set I love so much.”

He kisses me again, so quick my head spins, and then he’s gone.