Page 27 of Beautifully Conflicted

“We’ve been over this, zombies aren’t real.”

I lean forward, until my nose is just a few inches from his, actively ignoring how our proximity means I can see tiny flecks of gold in his brown eyes. “Neither is the idea that you know me better than I know myself.”

“Okay, Lucy.” His eyes roll as he smirks.

“Okay what?”

“Okay, you’re not breathing hard because you’re standing so close to me.”

“I…” My body straightens before I consciously decide to back off. “We just ran five fucking miles. Of course I’m breathing hard.”

“So your cool down with the whole hands on your head thing didn’t work?” Damien manages to make his face look curious instead of smug. “I know they say you’re supposed to do that to open your lungs,” he continues, “but I never felt like it worked for me. If it doesn’t work for you either it must be one of those wives’ tale things.”

“Get it through your head.” I jab my finger into his chest. “I’m—”

“Everything good here?” Coach materializes out of thin air, eyes darting cautiously between me and Damien.

“Of course.” I drop my hand to my side and play dumb.

“Damien?” Coach arches a brow at my nemesis.

“All good.”

Coach gives us each a final perusal. “Good. Get to the weight room.”

Damien jogs off while I opt for more of a reluctant stroll, putting as much distance between us as I can, even if it’ll only buy me a few minutes of peace.

Is it too late to enter the transfer portal myself?

Damien

“Another one,” Coach barks when the ball falls to the ground behind us—again—since Bennet and I seem to get sidetracked by who can run the fastest rather than run the route correctly.

It’s our first day of field work, which is mostly just going through the motions of what we’re supposed to do during a game since this is a pre-season practice. We’ve got helmets on, but no pads, meaning there’s not nearly enough physical contact between us as I’d like. Still, all thealmosttouching is great foreplay, as far as I’m concerned.

Pretty sure Bennet doesn’t feel the same since he’s even more grouchy than usual. I doubt he expected to work this hard during an off-season practice, but I’m not here to go through the motions, I’m here to make a name for myself.

Right now, I think that name is ‘pain in Bennet’s ass’since our little rivalry is the reason we’ve been doing this drill way too long, but I’m not going to willingly take my foot off the gas and let him beat me downfield. Since that means he ends up outrunning the ball every snap in his attempt to outrun me, well, that’s hardly my fault.

Who am I kidding? It’s totally my fault. And I love it.

I can want to fuck him and still win at the same time. I’m equal opportunity like that.

“Feeling the burn yet?” I pat Bennet’s right butt cheek as I take off back to the line of scrimmage.

“Fuck you,” he grunts.

“Anytime.” I wink, pleased to see he’s warming up to that idea.

I line up across from Bennet like I’ve done nearly half a dozen times already, waiting for the snap. The second the ball moves, he’s off, and I jog backwards a few steps with my arms spread wide, trying to force him to take a longer path to get downfield. My efforts don’t stop him, just slow him down a fraction, and once he makes a move to get around me, I step on the gas, matching him stride for stride as we barrel down the sideline.

Nate’s supposed to deliver the ball right along the edge of the field, so there’s only a narrow window to make the catch in-bounds. It’s a hard enough thing to get right without a defender in the way, but since Bennet can’t outrun me, I’m pinning him right along the edge, making that window even smaller. That’s why we keep outrunning the damn ball. He’s trying to break away to give himself more space to make the catch, and I won’t let him.

You could make the argument that Nate should throw the ball farther considering both Bennet and I can get our asses downfield as fast as we do, but I suspect our mutual desire to outdo each other is pushing the limits of his arm.

I feel a little bad putting our quarterback through the ringer, but I’m also curious how long Bennet can keep sprinting downfield. Honestly, I think that’s why we’re still doing this drill. Coach may claim it’s all about getting the timing of the pass right, but I think he secretly wants to see how far Bennet and I can push each other.

As we near forty yards beyond the line of scrimmage, Bennet turns his head over his shoulder, looking for the ball. It’s got a good trajectory this time around, though he’ll still have to pull back just a touch tomake the catch, and as soon as he does, I do too, keeping myself in play. But as the ball starts to drop it gets dangerously close to the sideline, and while Bennet manages to get a hand on it, he can’t pull it in while staying in bounds.

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