Page 91 of Unwritten Rules
Yeah, I should’ve expected a reaction like that.
But I don’t regret what I said. If the truth is enough to rid myself of a Zoe sized leech, then I’ll take a hundred more slaps across the face until she’s gone.
“You’re a fucking asshole,” Zoe hisses, voice dripping with lethal venom that could kill an adult. “And you’re going to regret ever treating me this way.”
I chuckle humorlessly. “I’d like to see you try, Zoe.”
With a huff, she barges past me, her shoulder digging into my bicep as she storms down the tunnel.
The chatter of people passing by and the gradual volume of my teammates metres away sound in my mind like static. I fight the urge to rub at my cheek which I’m sure is no doubt red, a reminder of what just happened. Every muscle in my body is wound tight, and with the added stress of wanting to perform well tonight, I feel like I’m slowly sinking into the ground—the weight too much for me to bear.
I run my hand through my hair and release a sharp breath. Needing to get my head in the game, I make a move for the sheds, but I’m stopped when a vanilla and floral scent sweeps me up, holding me hostage.
Glancing over my shoulder, I find Tatum standing two metres away, her round jade eyes moving to the red mark on my cheek.
Shit.
How much of the conversation with Zoe did she hear? More importantly, what did she see?
As if she can read my mind, she says, “What was that all about?”
I open my mouth, but the words get caught behind the lump in my throat. All I can do is watch as she steps forward,closing the space between us. Her small hand finds my left cheek, caressing the inflamed skin. Tatum’s touch is gentle and comforting. I fight the urge to lean into it, knowing anyone—especially her father—could walk upon us.
“She got you good,” she murmurs, eyes searching my face. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “I’m fine, Tate. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“Was that your first time getting slapped across the face?”
A smile tilts the corner of my lips. “By a woman, yeah.”
Tatum laughs, the sound defusing the shitstorm raging in my chest. “I’m not going to ask.”
“What you saw…” I drag my hand through my hair and exhale a sharp breath. “What I said needed to be heard by her.”
“It was harsh,” Tatum admits quietly. “But I understand.”
“I don’t need another person trying to keep us apart,” I tell her, voice barely above a whisper.
Tatum drags her bottom lip between her teeth and drops her hand to her side. I crave more of her touch, but now isn’t the right time.
“Good luck out there, Sin,” Tatum says, changing the topic, which I’m grateful for. “I’m proud of you.”
Those four words do something to my heart that I don’t understand. It’s not something that can be measured with words or a specific emotion. They seep into my soul, wrapping around me like a tight hug. My body screams at me to kiss her, to thank her for everything she has done for me, but I can’t—no matter how fucking badly I want to.
This woman is too much. And I love it.
“I’ll see you after the game, strawberry.”
Tatum grins. “I hope so.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
TATUM
Watching Sinnett out on the field—taking hard tackles, guiding his teammates through the six tackle set and pushing for plays that saw them get try after try, and how powerful his legs are when he kicks for a try conversion—is like finding the brightest star in the sky on a clear summer’s night. Sinnett was born to play rugby. It’s obvious in the way he commands the field and does everything he can to support his teammates.
I understand now why he carries a lot of pressure on his shoulders. His teammates look to him for guidance out there, and Sinnett only has a split second to decide what the play is going to be and how best to get the ball over the try line. And without fail, he puts his body on the line to help the team succeed.
