Page 60 of Play It Off

I release an irritated breath before I send him a reply.

Me: Let’s just keep this friendly.

Ryland: Define friendly.

Is he for real right now?

“Sienna! Can you come out and help, please?” Matty pops his head through the doorway, and I glance up from my phone, feeling bad.

“Sorry. I was texting the guy who sent me the flowers, and he keeps talking to me.” I set my phone down. “I’m coming.”

“Thanks.”

I follow Matty back out and wash my hands before I help a customer at the register—go me. I stay there for the next couple of hours since the customers stream in at a steady pace, taking my mind off my little problem with Ryland. But I’m going to have to deal with it again.

Hopefully he won’t be too difficult.

Chapter Twenty-TwoGavin

The party is starting at Nico, Coop, and Dollar’s house, and I’m in a foul mood. And for once, it’s not my father who put me there. There are a multitude of factors contributing to my shitty attitude, but a new one to add to the list popped up earlier this afternoon, and it sent me right over the edge.

I saw a sports report on ESPN where they were talking about serious contenders for the national title, and they mentioned the Dolphins. The reporter tore me apart, critiquing my game play so far this season and speculating that I might not “measure up” despite my recent statistics. Then he went on to discuss other teams and had nothing but glowing reviews for every single one of them. I was the only one called out for shit game play, and that put me in an immediate funk.

I regret ever turning on the TV to check game scores earlier. Fucking brand-new reporters who are barely out of college and have zero experience playing football, having the balls to tear apart my abilities and claim I probably don’t have what it takes to lead our team all the way. Like it’s all on me and no one else.

Fuck you, too, ESPN.

Walking into the house, I’m tense for other reasons. Knowing that Sienna will be here tonight and I won’t be able to touch her in publicwhen my thoughts have been rampant with images of mauling her in the best way. Tearing off her clothes and fucking her hard against a wall. Over a chair. In the backyard on one of those yoga mats Everleigh uses. Can’t make a public spectacle of our sexual escapades, though, so I’ll have to remain calm and in control.

That’s difficult, considering whenever I’m around her, I’m overcome with the need to touch her and it’s only getting worse. I thought I might get her out of my system after fucking her multiple times, but nope. It just made me crave her more. An incessant need is building inside me as every hour passes, and I’m already scanning the house in search of her. She’s most likely already here with Everleigh.

It’s probably best if I avoid all women and get shit faced tonight. Forget my troubles for once and drown them in alcohol. Probably not the right approach in handling my issues—football and women; well, make that a specific woman—but screw it. This is the team’s only weekend during the season where we allow ourselves to party our asses off and get truly fucked up. Come Monday morning, we’re back on the grind. Working toward our goal to win a national championship.

But I can’t get that stupid ESPN report out of my head. Why does it feel like the season is already slipping out of my fingers when we’ve only played a few games? Games we’ve actually won, I might add. But other teams are doing just as well and even better, stats-wise. The competition is fierce this year, and it’s intimidating as hell.

Kind of like the women in my life—well, two of them. Nothing much scares me, but that little Everleigh is a terror when she wants to be, trying to boss me around and tell me I need to apologize to Sienna—which I did, but I’m not about to mention that to her tonight. That’s a conversation I don’t want to have. She’ll just start harping on me and giving me a hard time when all I want to do is relax.

And then there’s Sienna. What happened between us last night rocked my fucking world, and I don’t know what to do about it. Or how to handle it—handle her. She haunts my fucking dreams on a regular basis, and now it’s even worse, knowing that she’ll let me do whateverI want to her. I didn’t hold back, and she gave as good as she got. Took everything I did to her with a smile and a moan.

She’s like my every dream woman come true.

Funny how I’ve been fighting my feelings for so long. I’ve been waking up to thoughts of her in the middle of the night for months. Hot and sweaty and with an aching erection, my body strung tight with need. Need for her. Before our encounters, I’d become overly acquainted with my hand, and I was worried I’d develop calluses on my palm that have nothing to do with a football.

Not any longer. No more jerking off unless she wants to be the one who does it—and damn, does she do it well.

I pause in the living room, faintly amused that no one greets me, which isn’t normal. I’m blending in to the wall while everyone who lives in this house is running around, finishing setting up for the party that’s about to happen.

My amusement evaporates when I lock eyes with Everleigh, her disappointment in me written all over her face as she walks past. And I don’t want to make things right by telling her I made up with Sienna. That’ll only lead to more questions I don’t feel like answering.

Instead, I go sit and sulk on the couch, turning up the volume on the TV so I can watch the game currently on. One of our biggest rivals is playing, and they’re demolishing their opponents, taking great pleasure in destroying them, from what I see on the television screen every time they gain an advantage. Smiling and giving each other high fives. Doing ridiculous dances on the sidelines—and in the end zone when they score.

Every single guy on that team is an asshole. I can’t wait to wipe their faces in our victory in a couple of weeks. That’s what I tell myself at least because I’m not about to let the doubt come in too strong. Not tonight. There’s no place for it.

There is never any place for it, and I need to cling tight to that for the next few months and get through this season on top.

Nico comes to a stop when he passes through the living room for about the fiftieth time, finally spotting me on the couch. “What the hell is your problem?”

Great. I must still look pissed. I try to even out my expression, but it’s no use.

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