Page 28 of Beautifully Conflicted

Stretching to reach it puts Bennet off balance, and he tumbles to the ground while I do my best to leap over him while he’s down. And while I avoid him, I still end up somersaulting in an effort to slow my momentum, which is awkward as hell with a helmet on, but worth it since I broke up the play. Again.

I’m on my feet before Bennet, and as I jog past him, I give his sexy round ass a little pat. “Nice one.”

It’s supposed to be a compliment—he nearly made that catch—but evidently that’s not the way he takes it.

Bennet whirls around and smacks my arm away with a snarl. “Stay the fuck away from me.”

“Why? What’d I do?” I halt mid-stride and stop to face him.

“There’s a line between patting players on the butt and copping a feel, and you’re crossing it.” He pokes a finger into my chest.

“I’d like to, yeah. But I haven’t.” Though Bennet has a sexy round ass that I’d very much like to get my hands on, I wouldn’t do it without permission.

“Bullshit. You fucking squeezed.”

I hold my hand out in the slightly curved position it was in when I gave him a little pat, noting that the shape looks more like a spoon than a paddle. “Maybe it was more of a scoop than a smack, but it definitely wasn’t a grope, and it’s not any different than what I do with everyone else.”

“I know what I felt.”

“What you felt, or what youwantedto feel?”

Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say.

Bennet turns a new shade of crimson as he lunges for me. It’s only because my hand was already hovering in front of my chest that I’m able to block his effort to shove me down.

Bennet pulls his arm back to take another swing, but before he can follow through two arms wrap around his chest from behind and hold him in place.

“Easy,” Cam says. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Yes,I do.”Bennet thrashes, trying to break free.

Cam tightens his grip. “Coach is watching. Be cool.”

Bennet stops fighting him, but his glare remains firmly fixed on me.

“What the hell is going on here?” Coach barks as he reaches us, and while I know I didsomethingto set Bennet off, I’m not entirely sure what that was, so I stay silent.

To my surprise, so does he.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve seen you two snipping at each other, but itwillbe the last or there’ll be consequences,” Coach continues. “Both of you get off my field.”

Bennet wrestles out of Cam’s hold with a violent jerk and stalks off toward the lockers, and after mumbling a lame, “Sorry Coach,” I trail after him, wracking my brain for a clue as to how we got here.

I suppose insinuating I want to sleep with him might’ve been a little too forward, but between Liam’s suggestion that Bennet might be open to some exploration, and the fact that Bennet has talked to me during our runs—talked, not shouted or flat out ignored me—I’ve gotten my hopes up. The only way I know how to approach that topic is to push the boundaries of his control a little, by revealing something about myself.

But I don’t think I’ve gone so far as to cross any lines.There’s too much at stake.

First and foremost, my shot at the NFL, which I’m not going to get if I have a reputation for treating my teammates inappropriately. Second, I legit want a shot with Bennet, and growly foreplay aside, I won’t get that if I torment rather than merely antagonize him.

The spray of water is already echoing throughout the locker room when I get there, and since I worked up quite the sweat trying to outdo Bennet, I strip off my gear and head in for a shower myself. The plan is to clean up, nothing more, yet I barely cross the threshold when I catch sight of the muscles in Bennet’s back rippling enticingly as he soaps that beautiful body, and my good intentions evaporate.

Bennet’s got the broad shoulders to go with his height, but when he raises his arms above his head to wash his hair they appear even wider, making his waist look especially trim. And those abs… I’m no stranger to cut muscle—they’re prevalent in most locker rooms I’ve been in—but something about Bennet’s are next level. They’re the perfect balance of definition and girth, and I imagine they flex deliciously when he fucks.

Between his broad shoulders, lean waist, and the water cascading down the staircase of his six pack in a way that makes his olive skin glisten, I’m damn near hypnotized. So much so that without realizing it my feet carry me to the stall right next to his.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he demands when he notices me.

“Showering.” I turn the water hot enough that a cloud of steam fills the stall, giving myself a way to discreetly observe the object of all my fantasies.

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