Page 89 of Wild Catch
Clearing my throat, I offer her the prize. “Here.”
She watches the thing while tucking the helmet between her arm and her side. “What’s that?”
“It’s my team shirt.” I unfurl it and spread it open, the back facing her. “This is what WAGs wear at these things.”
Her eyes roam over the lettering at the back like it’s her first time seeing KIM 2. “Marking territory, of course.”
Damn freaking straight.
I don’t say anything though. Even as far gone as I am, I know that I have no legitimate claim over her.
“Hold this.” She gives me her helmet and before I can even process what’s happening, she’s tugging her purple T-shirt off her shorts.
“Whoa, what are you doing?”
“Changing.” Her voice is muffled as the T-shirt goes over her face and off her head.
And I stop breathing. My jaw opens—fortunately, the helmet strap is there to catch it. Pretty sure the one whose face now looks like a cartoon with heart eyes and a wagging tongue is mine.
This is a pool party, a helpful voice reminds me in my head. Of course she was wearing her swimsuit under her clothes.
The top is strapless, twisting in the middle at the front in a way that accentuates her attributes. Her um, generous attributes. I work my tongue trying to swallow, but I can’t. Something’s wedged in my throat.
Meanwhile, she’s completely oblivious to the crisis I’m in. Her soft bright skin gleams under the sun as she works her arms into the sleeves of my team jersey. She leaves it open, grabbing the ends at the front to tie them at her waist.
Of all the conspiracy theories I never believed, the one that I now know is true is human combustion. I can feel my body temperature go from normal to damn volcanic in a matter of seconds. And now I’m sweating all over.
With jerky movements, I turn my back on her to zip up the backpack and load it on my back, trying to take as long as possible to compose myself.
I’m a grown-ass man, I tell myself.I can control myself. I am not my hormones.
“Aren’t you hot?” she asks all of a sudden.
If it wasn’t for my elite athleticism, I’d have stumbled on my own two feet. “What do you mean?” I ask all choked up.
She points at her face while we walk up the street. “Or does your helmet have air conditioning?”
“Oh.” I unclasp my helmet in a second and pull the thing off. Rivers of sweat threaten my eyes and I wipe them with the back of my arm.
“There, that’s better, isn’t it?” She chuckles.
No, it isn’t because now I can’t face her. I’m too wired to trust that I’ll be able to mask how much I want her.
As the Browns’s house appears, we automatically reach to grab hands and I realize that I’m still wearing my gloves. After doing away with them and tucking them in my pocket, I clasp Rose’s hand in mine again and we make our way to the backyard, where all the noise is coming from.
I hang back as she greets every living creature that appears in front of us, from babies, to a dog, to more WAGs, and some of the players. I offer nods to everyone, which is as far as I can manage when my eyes keep going to my last name emblazoned on Rose’s back. That’s some heady shit.
We reach the dreaded scenario at last: the pool. Maybe not so dreaded because surely dipping in the water will cool down my torch.
I’m still staring at the water as Rose and Hope find each other. “Oh my word, finally someone normal,” Hope says in greeting.
“Hey, what about me?” Starr protests.
His girlfriend retorts with, “You’re the strangest of them all, Cowboy.”
“I’m sure Logan has him beat.” Rose laughs.
I slide a side eye at her. She’s not wrong, but she also doesn’t need to laugh so hard.
