Page 26 of Play the Last Track
Scott makes a beeline for Ivy, sweeping her up in his arms easily and keeping her close. Flynn slows down as he approaches, taking slow and calculated steps toward me.
Hollie has disappeared, but I can hear her directing someone quietly behind me. I don’t turn to look, and I don’t try to listen to whatever she’s saying any harder because that would mean I would have to take my attention off of Flynn.
And, as we have already established, doing such a thing is almost impossible for me.
“Hey,” he says when he’s close enough to not have the words drowned out by the growing crowd filtering into the stadium around us.
“Hi,” I whisper, staring up into his face. His hair is still dry, one small curl falling across his forehead. I refrain from lifting my hand to wipe it away.
“You look nice.” He glances down my body, and I feel my skin begin to heat again.
“Thank you. I’m trying something different.”
“Wasn’t feeling the all-black look today, then?”
“I don’t always wear all black.”
He hums, a smile creeping across his lips. “Mm. Yes, yes you do.”
“It’s just what I wear at the bar. Easier when I am there all the time.” I shrug, trying not to let my nerves show through.
Flynn leans down, his breath hot against my ear as he whispers, “You ready, Rockstar?”
“Ready? For what—” My next words are cut off as Flynn slowly bends, gently dropping his helmet to the ground. He stands to his full height, his hands finding my cheeks. His thumb gently swipes across my bottom lip, and he smirks as my eyes flicker between his gaze and his mouth.
Then, he drops his head and kisses me.
If I thought the stadium went quiet when he looked at me before, it is nothing like the feeling I get when his lips meet mine.I am thrown into the memories of our first kiss under the stars, by the pool that night in Italy. How we had been laughing and drinking wine, sharing secrets.
How he’d looked at me like I was a breath of fresh air, and he was dying to breathe me in.
His lips move gently, slowly against my own. His fingers stroke my cheek, his hands keeping me firmly in place. I feel myself step into him, my hands sliding across the fabric of his jersey at his waist and clutching it in my grip.
I lose time when I kiss him.
He pulls back, not removing his hands from my face, and he rests his forehead against mine. I work to control my breathing, to slow my heart rate down. It’s going to be a long few months if I can’t keep my emotions in check.
When I look up and into the mix of blue and green swirling in his eyes, I force myself to remember the sinking feeling in my stomach and the stabbing pain in my chest that I felt the night after we slept together. I force myself to relive the memory of watching him flirt with a girl across the bar, right in front of me, and how it felt to hear in the bathroom later on that he actually gave his number to her. I overheard the girl bragging to her friends about it.
So even though he kisses me like he’s trying to tie me to him forever, I cannot get attached to Flynn Reed.
***
My heart is pounding, and my hand hurts. Ivy is holding onto me so tightly that I feel like she is definitely going to break a fewbones before the final whistle goes. The atmosphere is electric. The Broncos took an early lead, but it’s been a close game. New York are unofficial rivals. The game is always a little messy, but it feels different to me this year.
I can’t tell if it’s because I’m mirroring Ivy’s anxiety over watching her fiancé get sacked over and over, or if it’s because I’m feeling my own every time one of the New York defensive line catches Flynn and takes him to the ground.
The same defensive line breaks through the pocket again, and Scott falls to the ground, the ball still in his hand. I groan, the Broncos fans below us echoing my sentiment.
“Ives, I love you, and I know you’re anxious, but you’re going to break my hand.”
“Shit. Sorry.” She lets go and gives me an apologetic look.
“It’s a close game.”
“Scott is going to blame himself if they don’t win. He’s always so grumpy if he gets sacked in the pocket during one play, let alone a few.”
“You’ll cheer him up,” I say, bumping my hip against hers. “Just give him a blowjob when you get home and he’ll forget all about it.”
