Page 39 of Heart of Thorns

The crisp air and rigid bleachers are a recipe for agonizing pain. Even with the dose of medicine, I’m still uncomfortable. I refuse to stand beside the group of girls who cheer whenever Thorne so much as blinks, though. So sitting on hard bleachers it is.

“I hope he doesn’t expect me to act like them,” I whisper.

Marley hides her laughter behind her Styrofoam cup full of hot coffee.

Lydia leans into my space. “He’ll expect you to wear his jersey.”

Marley glances over. “Yeah, right. Remember when Ben tried to get her to wear his jersey and they got into the biggest argument?”

I shrug. “I played my best game after that argument.”

My emotions fuel me, and that night, I was angry.

Lydia bumps my shoulder with hers. “You two have a deal, though. You’re going to have to play your part so you can play withus.”

Nerves roll through me when I peek at the field. Thorne, practicing in short sleeves despite the cool temps, steps back and throws a perfect spiral to one of the running backs.

Screams from the girls on the sidelines ring throughout the air, and he looks over at hem.

My nose wrinkles when they get even more excited from his attention.

“The coach should make these practices private,” I mumble.

“If he did that, then this wouldn’t happen.”

I follow Lydia’s line of sight, and my pulse takes off.

“What is he doing?” I seethe.

Thorne, still in the middle of practice, rushes toward the bleachers—and he’s staring directly atme.

I grab Marley’s leg. “Kill me.”

She laughs and hides it with her cup again.

Lydia leans backward to talk to Marley around me. “Should I record this?”

My gaze stays trained on Thorne while they have a quiet conversation behind my back. He jumps up, holding on to the rail to haul himself onto the bleachers. He leans over the bar and smirks at me.

“Briar Hart,” he muses. “To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you at my practice?”

Here we go.

My teeth sink into my bottom lip. I am certain the entire football team is staring in our direction, as well as the wannabe cheerleaders.

Lydia elbows me.

“Yes,” I blurt.

Heat sweeps against my neck.

Thorne’s eyebrows shoot to his sweaty hairline. “Yes?”

His warm eyes move to Lydia and then to Marley before coming back to me. He squints, like he’s questioning my answer.

I nod.

Did we just have a silent conversation?

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