Page 112 of Unwritten Rules
Do I have the power to get her kicked off the team? I’m not sure, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“You’re an asshole, Sin,” Zoe seethes, a fire burning in her honey eyes.
“Yeah, an asshole who is done with your shit,” I retort hotly. “Leave me alone, Zoe. I mean it, or I’m going to make life extremely difficult for you.”
Zoe opens her mouth, but closes it upon seeing my arched brows, daring her to try me so I can make good on my promise.
She stays silent.
For the first time in a week, relief floods my body as one battle I’ve been fighting has come to an end. I take a step back and shove my hands into the front pocket of my hoodie. Zoe tracks my movement with her eyes, still at a loss for words.
I don’t say a word as I turn on my heels and stalk to my car parked haphazardly on the street. Having said all I needed to, my steps feel lighter and my head a little clearer.
Winning this battle is the first of many raging around me. My biggest challenge is figuring out how I’m going to get Tatum back. She may have been willing to walk away, but I’m not. And I will fight to the end to show her just what she means to me.
Chapter Thirty-Two
SINNETT
My head is a fucking mess.
It’s as if I have butter fingers tonight because I can’t hold onto the ball to save my life, and every play I try to set up fails miserably.
Well, that might be a little dramatic given the Wolves are leading the Falcons 26-22, butstill. Everything I do just doesn’t feel right, and it’s driving me fucking insane. And I have no doubt it has everything to do with a certain strawberry-blonde I can’t get out of my head. Every time I close my eyes, her jade ones are looking back at me. When I look in the mirror, her sweet smile is right there, reminding me of everything I lost. OfwhoI fucking lost.
The ref blows his whistle, calling for a penalty on one of the Falcons’ players during their third tackle. Zane gets to his feet, but not before patting the other guy on the shoulder—a silent apology for the rough tackle. He jogs over to get in formation, shaking it off.
I shove my hand through damp hair, tugging at the roots.Fuck. I desperately wish I could shake whatever the fuck is going on with me, but nothing I do seems to work. Is it possible to getout of this funk when my thoughts are consumed by the woman who slipped between my fingers?
It’s ironic that Phil put the no-dating rule in place so the team didn’t get distracted, but now my head is all messed up because I no longer have his daughter in my life.
Funny how that works.
The Falcons put a tap on the ball and rush forward. Needing to let go of the built-up tension in my shoulders, I rush into the tackle. Grabbing the guy around the waist, I drag him down to the ground, pinning him in an awkward angle that has him groaning. Pain shoots down my leg when his knee makes contact with my right quad.
Fuuuuuck. Why did I do that?
The ref calls, “Held!” and I jump to my feet, backing away from number ten. But before I can take two steps back, the burly man has his hands fisted in the front of my jersey. His deep brown eyes are filled with a rage that I’ve only ever seen out on the field. It’s what I like to call frustration mixed with pure adrenaline pumping through your veins.
“What the fuck, man!” he shouts, spittle landing on my chin.
I clench my jaw, both from the pain throbbing in my quad and anger at the audacity of this fucking guy. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him to get fucked, or take my aggression out in another way that could see me sin binned for ten minutes. Instead, I grit my teeth and shove at his chest, needing him away from me before I do something I might regret.
He stumbles back, heated eyes holding mine as he joins his teammates.
Huffing, I turn to join the formation on the forty-metre line. Khai shoots me awhat the fucklook, but I shrug in return. I don’t know what he wants me to say how other than I can’t think straight and I feel like I’m drowning.
Just as the whistle blows, I sweep my gaze toward the grandstand where Mia sits. I insisted on her coming to the game tonight, if only to distract her from what’s happening in her life. But now she’s seeing me in a state she’s never seen before. I see it in her eyes. As my twin, she can read me like a book with no ink on the pages. She knows I’m distracted and playing like a pile of sloppy shit. Fuck, every Wolves fan in the crowd can see it.
And until I see Tatum, I don’t know how I can snap out of this state.
“I knowwe won against the Falcons tonight, but where the fuck was your head out there?” Khai hisses from beside me, rubbing a towel over his wet hair. “Shit has hit the fan with Tatum, but don’t forget what we’re fighting for here.”
I grimace, running a hand down the side of my face. Freshly showered, my skin is still clammy, and the cologne I sprayed moments ago clings to my skin. “I know, I know. You don’t need to remind me how shit I played tonight. Trust me, I’m going to be kicking myself for the rest of the night.”
Khai drops his eyes to where my hand rubs my right thigh, something that has become second nature to me these past few months. Realising my mistake, I halt my hand, but it wasn’t quick enough. He saw.
Shit.
