Page 15 of Protecting Player #73
After an internal debate about texting Alex, I decide to wait because she will bust in here with guns blazing. When it comes to me, she’s a shoot-first-ask-questions-later type of girl. While I love that about her, this isn’t a jump-to-conclusions situation.
Except…maybe it is.
Crap.
“Everything okay?”
I hear Thor before I see him and quickly toss my bag into the closet while closing drawers and grabbing my hairbrush and a hair band so he doesn’t think I suspect anything.
“Great!” I’m overly cheerful as he stands behind the door, but it’s too late to correct my behavior now. “Just braiding my hair, and I’ll be out!”
I watch the doorknob twist a little, and I hold my breath, waiting for him to ask why it won’t open, but he doesn’t say anything else, and I don’t comment about it.
Dropping onto the edge of my bed, emotions run rampant, and my heart pounds a mile a minute. I can’t live like this. Worrying that Thor is crossing the line and going through my stuff. There is no way I can trust him now. If I keep acting weird, he’ll realize why, and despite believing I knew who he was as a person, I obviously don’t, so there’s no telling how he’ll react if I accuse him of snooping through my things.
Rock meet hard place. I’m so stuck in the middle.
Not having heard from T.K. in several days, I certainly can’t call on him, especially when he’s made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t like Thor, plus he wants to jump into a relationship I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for. That man is a hell of a lot more intense than I ever imagined. And Alex will only get her lawyer friends to slap on as many lawsuits as they can once I share my suspicions with her. Which leaves one of my college friends or my parents.
Adeline Strong would take me in, in a heartbeat. She’d never ask why, just wait patiently and give me the space I need. But she’s finally gained some independence from her overbearing family, and I don’t want to encroach on that.
My parents will likely ask as many questions as my sister, then tell her about it when I don’t, because they believe it’s what’s best for me. They wouldn’t be wrong, and I’d never keep this from Alex anyway. I just don’t want everyone in my business until I make a decision.
Going to a hotel is also an option, I suppose. However, spending money when I don’t have to feels like a waste. Torn, I take some time to actually braid my hair while planning my next move before returning to the living room to finish our show, then cleaning up our dinner mess.
“Are you okay, B?” That nickname I always thought was sweet, now grates on my nerves.
“Yup, just a lot going on, and I’m a little distracted, I guess.”
Acting like it’s no big deal, I force myself to remain as normal as possible while also feeling like Ted Bundy is stalking me in my own home.
Chapter 11
T.K
Something’s wrong. Brea is acting weird today. She’s avoiding eye contact with me and keeping to herself when she ordinarily teases and jokes around with the team. She’s guarded, and her shoulders are hunched, which tells me she’s closed herself off. Even Kace and Cash, who she’s close with, share looks and are hesitant to approach her.
“Hey, man, your girl okay?” Cash eventually asks when Brea moves to sit in the stands, likely editing the footage she caught from today’s practice.
“She’s in a mood,” I agree, because I haven’t a fucking clue.
“Line it up, boys!” Coach yells at us, annoyed that we aren’t paying attention.
Jogging out to position, I drop down, one knee on the ground, the other leg outstretched, ready to blast through my O-Line and touch the QB but wanting to plow through them all. Restless energy pumps through my veins because I can’t get inside Brea’s head, and it makes me reckless. The craving to cause pain has me unhinged.
As the whistle blows, I zone in, and my body reacts swiftly. Pushing off my back leg and brushing through two players, toofast for them to catch, I lock my sights on the quarterback. In a split second, my brain clicks into practice mode, and instead of tackling him, I tap his hip with my hand. Tucking and rolling, I land on my feet and whip off my helmet, immediately pinching the bridge of my nose.
I feel eyes on me and spin around. Brea is there, her sky blue orbs wide open and focused on me, while worrying her lower lip with her teeth. She subtly shakes her head when she notices I’m about to take a step towards her. Frustrated, I stop and turn my back because if she keeps looking at me like that, heart on her sleeve and desire in her eyes, I’ll act on it and blow her world wide open.
“Weston, get your head in the game!” Coach shouts at me, and I can tell from his tone that he’s had enough of my shit. When I turn back around, Brea is gone, and I don’t know whether to breathe a sigh of relief or fucking panic. I’d prefer her always within my sight, but she’s clearly a distraction, and the only one to blame for that is myself.
Not contacting her when we came home after our Texas game was a mistake, but I needed time to figure my shit out. I kept an eye on her from a distance. Watched her as she slept, broke into her house to swap out her birth control, and set up cameras in her room. I stole her fucking panties and plotted her friend’s death because that asshole rubs me the wrong way with how he lurks around her so much. When he invades her space by touching her, getting closer than friends do. I contemplated how and where I’d bury his body so nobody would find him.
When it comes to Brea, the sickness inside me knows no bounds and will never find relief.
I mutter to myself, “Get this fucking over with,” and a few guys look at me. I ignore them and get back in position, resolute for the rest of practice. Giving my best moves and encouragingmy team to step up their game so that when we head to Vegas at the end of the week, we’re ready to kick some ass.
Staring at my phone, waiting for Brea to answer my text is driving me crazy. I could just check the cameras I installed in her room, track her phone, spy on her in one of the many ways I’ve violated her privacy, but I can’t bring myself to do it. My need for Brea to want me is driving my obsession to the point where I’m not sure I care if she wants me the way I want her. The woman is mine. There’s no question about it.
