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“And you’re anangel,” Letty says, her voice dripping in sarcasm, but she allows Adhira to hold up her weight as her legsfail her. The woman needs to get laid, and I’m not sure why she hasn’t in so long. As a group, we’re all very sex-positive, though Adhira tends to be less interested.
The moment Rafael breaks eye contact with me, my shoulders sag, and I take in a desperate gulp of air, filling my deprived lungs.
Several onlookers are shouting, yelling out the names of their favourite players, encouraging them to eat quicker. Among them are several women with drool practically spilling from the sides of their mouths. Guess I can’t fault them, all things considered.
“The pot is up to ten thousand seven hundred pounds already!” Rob screams, his excitement contagious.
Rafael’s dark gaze flicks up, and it’s like I’m locked in again, unable to tear my eyes away from him even if I wanted to. His jaw works quickly as he takes large bites, swallowing them down. His Adam's apple bobs with the movement, and I swear to god I feel my thong soaking through.What the fuck is happening to me?
He finishes, standing upright, stomping his foot on the ground. His head rears back as he shouts up to the sky above, “Hell yeah!”
I turn my back to him, needing a moment to look away. I suck a strained breath through my nose, my chest heaving as I replenish the lost oxygen. Chelsea tracks my movements, bringing a hand up in front of me to fan me off. “Down girl, calm down,” she jokes with a giggle.
I roll my eyes at her, swatting her hand away, and spin back around to face Rob, who’s listing off all the stats for the event.
The next couple of hours go exactly as you’d expect for an event like this. Lots of random competitions, raffles, auctions, and finally, the announcement that the event significantly surpassed the goal of one hundred thousand pounds by nearly double.
I watch as Rafael slips past a crowd surrounding some of his teammates and hurries off toward the tunnel for the locker rooms.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
SATURDAY, APRIL 26
My footsteps echooff of the tile floors and white walls as I head down the hall toward Rafael’s office.
I meant to email him last night but got caught up with another essay and forgot. We need to get the plan for this week's practices squared away, and as much as I hate to admit it, his drills have been helpful.
His office door is cracked open, and when I knock, it creaks, opening wider to reveal a distraught Rafael. He’s hunched over his wooden desk, his elbows digging into the hard surface as he cradles his head in his hands.
“Coach?” I ask, chewing the inside of my cheek, my mouth going dry.
His head snaps up, his jaw clenched shut as he glares at me, sucking in a breath. He shakes his head, loosening his jaw, running a shaky hand through his overgrown waves.
“I can come back,” I say, backpedalling. I’m not sure what’s going on with him, but I don’t think I want to find out right now.
He shakes his head again, grunting as he does. “No, it’s fine.I’mfine. Have a seat,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Against my better judgement, I shut the door behind me and take a seat in the dark-red tweed chair in front of his desk. I’ve always been one for making questionable decisions, why stop now?
He scrubs a hand over his cheek, the stubble residing there much more prominent than I’ve previously seen it. The dark circles I’d noticed earlier look even worse in the crappy overhead light of his office, and a heavy weight settles in my gut.
I scoot my chair closer to his desk, unable to stop my body’s response to him. Iwantto comfort him, I realise, the thought foreign to me. I give into the feeling, settling my hand over his, my whole body tensing as his gaze lazily travels from my hand to my face. I give his hand a quick squeeze, but I can’t seem to tear the offending appendage from him.
This isn’t a man who anyone would describe as “sunshine” by any stretch of the imagination, but as someone who’s been told I’m “too grumpy” about a million times, I recognise this isn’t his baseline piss-poor attitude. No, this is something far beyond what I’d consider typical for him.
“Do you—” I clear my throat. “Do you need someone to talk to?” My thighs squeeze as his expression shifts to something more intense, verging on feral.
He stands abruptly, his hand remaining under mine as he leans across the table, planting his other hand flat, and he brings his face mere inches from mine.
Rafael slips the hand from under mine, pinching my chin between his thumb and forefinger, dragging my mouth closer to his. “No, Elise,” he grits out, “I don’t need totalkabout it. What I need is agoddamn distraction.”
His voice is rough and low, almost menacing, but my body betrays me. My chest heaves at the proximity between us, and my core spasms, all self-preservation flying out the window with my sanity, replaced by lust and driven by an obscene need to let this man use my body for his own whims. My lips part, and there’s a flutter low in my belly.
This is what I get for listening to all those damn mafia romance books on audio.
Evidently, I’mattractedto unhinged men, like this one, who looks like he could simultaneously fulfil all of my wildest and most erotic fantasies as he tears my heart and mind apart, piece by dreadful piece.
I swallow thickly and do my best to sound confident, but the words leave my mouth like a whisper. “I could be that for you.”Since when am I this meek little girl?