Page 66 of Pucking Obsessed

Okay, I hope that either my twin or I win.

But still, is it bad that I hope that she choosesme?

Robyn pushes her hair out of her eyes. “You were each good in different ways. I can’t choose between you. How about I say that you were equal? Then you’re all winners.”

Eden’s shoulders relax. “Works for me.”

D’Angelo stands up, doing up his tie. “More fun in the kink game.”

I stare between them.

I should be happy to be equal.

Somehow, it still hurts.

I duck my head, hiding my expression.

The knot in my stomach becomes tighter.

Unexpectedly, the bell for the front door, which is linked up to D’Angelo’s phone, rings.

I startle.

No one uses that apart from the security team and sometimes, coach.

“That better not be coach dropping in uninvited again.” D’Angelo hurriedly does up his shirt.

He’s taking too long because his OCD is forcing him to tap out rhythms of three on each button. His expression is tight with frustration.

Coach has this effect on him. Protectiveness races through me.

Would coach mind if I opened the door to him naked?

“I’ll deal with it,” Eden offers.

D’Angelo shakes his head. “I’ll be back in a minute. Be prepared in case it is coach and he decides to storm in here. Cucciolo, at least cover your cum stained stomach.”

I glance down at myself.

Whoops.

D’Angelo strides out of the bedroom.

I squirm around next to Robyn and drag the violet quilt up to my chin, as well as hers.

“What are we going to do about the Misfits group?” Eden asks, quietly.

Robyn looks pensive. “Monitor for now. The board don’t want any scandals. As long as they don’t break into real world stalking, then we can control this. I’ll continue to work on the team’s image. The mainstream press is overwhelmingly positive about the team, when at the start of the season they were negative. It’s social media that we need to work on and fuck, that’s much harder to handle.”

I wring the duvet in my hands, listening out for D’Angelo.

I can’t hear any voices.

I deliberately ignore Eden’s sternly disapproving glare, as I wipe my sticky stomach clean on the quilt (he must have forgotten how I’d use a sports sock in dorms).

Then I hear D’Angelo’s footsteps in the corridor, and he stalks back into the bedroom.

He’s holding a small, expensive looking red and black jewelry bag.

---