Page 103 of Bitter When He Begs

His grin softens. “Seriously though, I’m glad you’re here.”

The sincerity in his voice throws me. Because it’s not just performative or said to fill space—it’s real. There’s a quietness to it. Like I showed up on a day when maybe he didn’t realize he needed me to. Like it actually means something.

“Yeah,” I say, scratching the back of my neck. “Well, you looked hot yelling at people. So.”

He snorts, brushing his thumb along the side of my wrist. “Stay for the scrimmage?”

I hesitate. “Depends. Will you tackle someone for me?”

“I’d tackle someone even if you didn’t ask.”

“God, you’re such a golden retriever.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

I look him up and down—sweaty, flushed, borderline vibrating from adrenaline—and feel something quiet settle in my chest.

It’s not a bad thing at all.

“I’ll stay,” I say, sitting back down slowly. “But only if you give me a good show.”

Luca grins, turns, and jogs backward toward the field, shouting over his shoulder as he goes. “Everything I do is for you, Sunshine!”

I groan into my hands, praying nobody heard that, but the distant laughter from his teammates says otherwise.

Still, as I settle back into my seat, sliding my sunglasses back down, I realize I don’t actually care who heard. Not really.

Because, for once, being known like this doesn’t feel like a burden.

It feels like I get to be his.

I stay in the stands a little longer than I mean to. The scrimmage doesn’t last forever, and I know I should head back to the medialab or at least pretend to be productive, but instead, I watch Luca like I’m trying to memorize every move he makes.

He’s back on the field like nothing ever pulled him off it, barking plays, shoving at Eli’s shoulder, flashing that blinding grin when Julian fumbles and blames the sun for it. He’s a damn menace and he knows it. He thrives here—sweaty, stupidly gorgeous, and entirely in his element.

And I still can’t believe he’s mine.

I stay until the last whistle—until the guys start gathering their things and trotting toward the sidelines. Most of the team filters off toward the locker room, but Luca hangs back, chugging water like he’s dying, running a hand through his hair to shake out the sweat.

His shirt’s been ditched somewhere between drills and now, so he’s just standing there in nothing but his tight-ass compression shorts like he’s trying to ruin my entire academic future.

It works.

I head down the bleachers before I can talk myself out of it, feet moving faster than my brain. He hasn’t seen me coming yet. He’s still half-distracted, mouthing off to someone as he leans down to grab his bag.

I stop just short of him and clear my throat.

His head lifts fast and his grin is immediate, wide and bright and dumb. I barely give him time to say anything before I reach for the sides of his face, drag him down slightly, and kiss him.

His breath catches against my mouth, and for a second, I feel him go still like I’ve actually surprised him.

Then he’s moving; hands gripping my waist, body pressed against mine, mouth slanting harder as he kisses me back like it’s the only thing he’s wanted to do all fucking day. His lips are hot, wet, a little chapped, and I don’t care. I open for him.

It’s not a long kiss, not the kind we usually fall apart to, but it’s enough to leave us both breathless when I finally pull back.

Luca blinks down at me, stunned and slightly dazed. “Holy shit,” he mutters, grinning like an idiot. “You kissed me first.”

I shrug, but I can’t stop the smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth. “Yeah, well. You were standing there looking all flushed and glowy and half-naked, and I have zero self-control when it comes to your abs.”

---