Page 60 of Twisted Play
EVA
Me
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The Devil
Is that all?
Me
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I didn’t get a chance to see everyone’s file, but these are the players I know have injuries.
“Eva!”Tristan jogged after me as I hurried to exit the locker room. His long stride ate up the distance between us before I could escape.
I forced myself to turn, to meet those earnest golden eyes. My chest ached at his genuine smile. Three days of hiding in stairwells, of ducking out early, of leaving his sweet texts unread, and still, he looked at me like I was worth chasing.
“Hi,” I managed, the word barely awhisper. Tristan caged me against the ice machine, his body curved protectively over mine, leaving me trapped between his warmth and the cold metal at my back.
“You’ve been so busy.” He reached for a strand of my hair and gently tucked it behind my ear. “I’ve missed you.”
The tenderness made me ache. How could I explain that accepting his soft touches felt like betraying him?
“I told you, I don’t date,” I said, ignoring how close he stood to me, how protected I felt wedged against the wall with his body curving over me, standing between me and the world, how much he made me feel like Imattered.
“We weren’t dating, but you won’t even talk to me.”
“Like you said, I’ve been busy,” I said shortly, pushing gently against his chest. “I need to take the ice packs back to Dr. Parker.”
Tristan stooped to lift them into his unfairly strong arms, the muscles in his forearm tensing as he held out his hand for the one I was filling. “Happy to help.”
“Tristan,” I growled, and he bent down to rub his nose against mine.
“So fucking cute, kitten. C’mon, let’s get these to the good doctor.”
Reluctantly, I followed him out of the locker room to the training room, where a few players waited for Dr. Parker and her team of physical therapists to ice and work out old injuries after practice.
Dr. Parker looked at me then at Tristan, then me again before she sighed.
“Don’t date the players,” she’d told me on my first day of practice. I’d reminded her then that I hadn’t my whole junior year, when I was juggling an unpaid internship with the club athletic program in hopes that it’d turn into a paid position my senior year.
And here I was, scant weeks later, with one of the team’s players helping me run fucking errands so he could get into my pants.
Her respect meant the world to me, but blurting out that no matter how much I insisted I didn’t date, Tristan found a way to worm himself into my time would only give him another opening to press his advantage.
“Thanks,” she said, taking the ice packs from Tristan and me. “Go ahead and head out so you can catch the bus.”
“The bus?” Tristan asked, tilting his head, as if he didn’t understand. “You don’t have a car?”
The genuine confusion in his voice made my shoulders tense. Another reminder of the gulf between us, between my world of careful budgets and missed meals and the players’ world of easy financial privilege.
“No,” I mumbled. “I take the bus.”
“It’s nine o’clock at night.” Before I could step away, his fingers circled my wrist. The gentle restraint made my heart race, but whether from fear or want, I couldn’t tell anymore.
