Page 74 of Playing Hard to Hate
“I don’t want to compete with your past.”
“You wouldn’t.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper, fragile but fierce. “I’m so scared you’ll hurt me again.”
I lifted my hand, tracing my thumb along her jaw. “Then let me prove you wrong. Give me a chance.”
She swallowed hard, conflict warring in her eyes. “I need to think about it.”
A slow smirk tugged at my lips. “Can I come back tonight? After we win?”
She huffed out a soft laugh, but there was a spark behind it. “Presumptuous, aren’t we?”
“I’m winning the title, Tate.”
She exhaled, shaking her head, but I didn’t miss the way her lips twitched like she wanted to believe me. “Call me after the game.”
I leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead, inhaling the scent of her, memorizing the moment. Not only was I going to win this game, I was going to winher. By the end of the night, this beautiful, stubborn ice queen of a woman would be mine.
We’d won.
There was chaos in the grandstands and in the locker room as we all entered, the adrenaline coursing through our veins, and we celebrated our second win of the playoffs.
I couldn’t wait to get out of there, though. The need to shower and clean up as quickly as possible fueled me as I thought of my upcoming phone call with Tate.
Tonight would be the fucking night. I’d kiss her and know it was going to happen again and fucking again. Hopefully, she’d let me sleep in her bed again because my neck still hurt from the couch, but I’d sleep wherever she wanted me to.
“You’re in a good mood. You finally get lucky with Tate?” Hunter asked, doing very little to keep the venom from his tone.
“Don’t talk about her like that.” I sneered. She was so much more than a romp between the sheets, and I sure as shit thought my best friend would know that.
“You won’t be celebrating with us tonight, I assume?”
I shook my head. “Hopefully not.” I dragged the towel down my body, drying myself before sliding on a pair of black boxers and a matching V-neck.
“Never thought you’d put a girl between us.”
“Hunter, cut it out,” Graham interrupted, glaring at his twin.
I slammed Hunter against the lockers, holding him by his uniform. I towered over him by a few inches, but there wasn’t a bit of fear in his eyes—only anger and irritation.
“Youput a girl between us. And not just any girl, butthegirl. I didn’t do anything, and neither did she. I’ve never been so fucking disappointed in you, Jackson. You know how much she means to me. You fucking know.” I spat his last name, shoved him against the lockers one more time for good measure, and then dropped his sorry ass.
I shoved my legs into my jeans, ignoring the silence that plagued the locker room now. Hunter and I had never fought before. We’d always been thick as thieves, and everyone had just witnessed our little spat.
Pulling a baseball cap over my wet hair, I grabbed my bag and stormed out of the locker room, ignoring Dexter’s attempt toget my attention. Ineededto call Tatum. I needed to know if she had decided.
The usual horde of cleat chasers was outside the locker room, all of them wearing our baseball jerseys and screaming our names, hoping for one night of fun. I usually liked to take one to a hotel on nights when we’d won. Hell, I had been known for it in the tabloids, which is where Tate’s hesitation came from. Tonight, I didn’t glance their way. I had too much on the line.
A reporter stopped me to ask about my opinion of the game. It wasn’t uncommon, and usually, I loved any camera time thrown my way, but not tonight.
The female reporter leaned forward, microphone in hand. “Griffin, back-to-back playoff wins. How does it feel?”
I fixed my hat and hoisted my duffel bag on my shoulder, flashing an easy grin. “Feels damn good,” I admitted, my voice smooth despite the adrenaline still running hot in my veins. “We came in with a plan, stuck to it, and got it done.”
More questions came fast and sharp.
“Do you feel like you’re proving yourself as a rookie?”
