Page 15 of Bound

Nothing.

“I’ll dish us up some.”

She shakes her head, pushes up to her feet with a wince and a groan, starts tottering toward the kitchen.

“We’re going full cartons tonight, baby girl. I’ll get them. You get the spoons.”

CHAPTER SIX

Jackson

“One more,” Smitty says, and it’s quiet for him.

But it’s still loud enough to make me want to punch him.

I didn’t sleep well the last few nights—not with so much to rehash, to replay in my mind.

The shitshow of a game, the stuff with Claire.

Itouchedher.

Fuck, and since then I’ve dreamed about the softness of her skin, the plumpness of her lips, how easy it would be to taste her.

So fucking stupid.

I should have left her thinking I despised her, that I only think she’s good for snacks and sandwiches.

Instead, I blurred lines.

And I can’t have that.

“Dude,” Smitty says, snagging the bar when I go to press it overhead, “I only said one more.”

I let him have the bar, watch as he reracks it, and realize that my arms are shaking, my muscles burned out.

How many extra reps had I done without processing them?

Enough that I’m glad Smitty is here to spot me and make sure I don’t end up with a face full of barbell.

“Thanks,” I mutter.

“You need to get your shit together, man.” His expression is hard—an unusual look on my teammate’s face. He’s loud and always cracking jokes, there and ready to lighten the moment.

Unless you do something that hurts someone he cares about.

Doesn’t matter if the hurting is self-imposed or otherwise—he’ll go ham on your ass.

“I need a snack,” I mutter before he can unleash the lunch meat, pushing off the bench and winding my way through the weight room before he can start in on me.

But when I push into the player’s lounge, it’s not to find any relief.

Claire is standing in front of the fridge, a plastic crate of drinks on the floor in front of her.

Restocking.

Always taking care of us.

She glances up…and?—

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