Page 38 of Beautifully Conflicted

Either way, I’m going to need to move on from this crush—okay, obsession—I have for Bennet. And it needs to happen sooner than later, preferably before it costs me my other dream, and this transfer becomes totally worthless.

***

“You’re not smacking my butt,” Bennet says after we run our route, which ends in us slowing to a jog when the ball is sent Jagger’s way.

That’s been happening more and more lately—the ball goes to the receiver I’m not covering—which I think is why Coach keeps switching up which guy I’m paired against. I’m partial to covering Bennet since it gives me more time with him, but since I’m trying to purge all Bennet-related fantasies from my mind, I’m okay to switch it up a little. Plus, Jagger gives me a run for my money, and I like the challenge.

Still, I’m matched with Bennet every other play, which makes it hard to keep him off my mind. Especially since he’s the one who keeps initiating conversation with me.

Why he’s suddenly Mr. Chatty, I have no idea. But I’m trying not to think about it. I don’t want to get distracted from the plays I’m supposed to be running.

“You don’t like it when I touch you, so…” I shrug as we walk back to the line of scrimmage.

“I don’t like you grabbing my ass. Smacking butts is different.”

“Well, I don’t do it any differently today than I did before, so it’s probably better if I don’t do it at all. I don’t need a rep for pissing off my teammates or my coach.”

“And I don’t need special treatment.”

“The other day you most definitelyneededspecial treatment.”

“The other day you grabbed my ass.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to remind him that’s not all I grabbed, but Bennet specifically said talking about his dick is off limits. And in an effort to keep this newfound peace, I manage to stop myself from bringing up our shower time by biting down on the corner of my lips and holding my breath.

Exercising that kind of restraint is mentally exhausting, so I nearly screw up the next play since I’m a little zoned out.

Coach’s voice slices through the air as I attempt to catch my breath, walking off the near fail with my hands over my head. “Montgomery, what the hell is up with you today?”

“Just tired, Coach,” I manage to shout across the field between huffs.

The next play starts, and fortunately for me, Bennet comes into my peripheral right before the snap. It gives me just enough time to anticipate his next move as we take off down the field.

Bennet’s charging like he’s going for the end zone, and while I’m with him, I’m not trying to get ahead since I know this burst of speed is to throw me off, and he’s planning to double back for the catch.

When he inevitably changes direction, I’m right there, already in a better position to disrupt the play since I don’t have to backtrack as far. I leap into the air a half-second before he does, knocking the ball away before he has a chance to get a hand on it.

“Lucky play,” he grumbles as he comes down without the ball, a puff of white air making it look like he’s a dragon snorting smoke, if dragons wore helmets.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you must be getting tired since you didn’t race me downfield, and you got lucky that it was a shorter pass.”

“That wasn’t luck. I knew you were doubling back to make that catch.”

“Yeah, right.” Another cloud of air puffs from his helmet.

“Bet.”

Bennet turns to face me, cheeks pink from the cold and his hands planted firmly on his hips. “Okay, I’ll bite. How the fuck would you know that?”

“You have a tell.”

“Bullshit.”

Since that kind of honesty about his game earned me a tirade last time, I’m surprised when he does nothing but tilt his head, waiting for me to elaborate.

Fuck it, he already doesn’t feel anything for me. No harm in giving him another reason to think that way.

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