Page 26

TWENTY-FOUR

ARDEN

“Levine, I need to see you in my office when you’re done changing,” Dahlia says, peeking into the locker room. We’ve been here most of the day—first watching tape from the joint practices we’ve had, so we can adjust things that aren’t working, then hitting the court for the last two hours. I honestly just want to get home, eat, and get off my feet, but it looks like that’ll have to wait.

“Be right there, Coach,” I reply, pulling my crewneck over my head and tossing my dirty clothes into my bag. Zara shoots me a quizzical look, making me shrug in response. Dahlia has barely said two words to me all week, so I have no clue what this could be about. Trying to tamp down my nerves, I stand straight, checking my reflection in the mirror before heading toward where she waits for me behind her desk.

“Close the door,” she orders firmly. I turn around, rolling my eyes at her snooty tone and carefully shutting us in alone. Giving her my best convincing smile, I walk toward the chair across from her, but she halts me before I can sit. “Don’t bother. This won’t take long.” She focuses her attention on her computer, clicking the mouse a few times while I wait for her to speak.

“We’re switching things up. From now on, I’ll be calling the plays from the sidelines,” she says, not even bothering to look at me while she does. She brings her fingers to the keyboard, tapping away as I stand there completely dumbfounded. I choke out an incredulous laugh, causing her to whip her head in my direction. I’m sure it’s coming off as disrespectful, considering she’s my coach, but what the fuck ? “Is something funny?”

“Ummm, yes,” I reply, blood boiling like hot lava in my veins as I struggle to keep from flying off the handle. “We’ve been working together for months, and it’s taken me that long to learn what to look for in my hitters to know what plays to run. I’ve given you no indication that I’m incapable of calling the plays. You may not always agree with them, but everything I do is for a reason, and I always put my team first.” She stares daggers at me as I stand awkwardly, feeling the need to fill the silence with more reasoning. “It isn’t feasible to think you’d be able to see things from the bench. And even if you could, the chances of me being able to hear you and react quickly enough aren’t good. We’d have to figure out a better system, and we have less than two weeks before our first match.” I shake my head, exhaling a slow breath. “Respectfully, I think you’re making a mistake, Coach.” Emotion claws at my throat, but I do my best not to look affected because I know that’s exactly what she wants right now.

She raises a brow, sitting straight and lifting her chin. “Are you attempting to undermine me? Maybe you’ve forgotten, but I run the Flare. I decide what’s best for this team, not you. If you don’t like it, feel free to leave. Just because those girls out there voted you captain doesn’t mean they’d give a flying fuck if you were gone. The choice is yours, Arden. Either do the plays as I call them, or I can make sure every team in the league knows how combative and uncoachable you are.”

I want to scream. This has to be personal. There’s no way she’d be willing to risk a loss if there wasn’t an underlying reason. But I honestly can’t think of anything I’ve done—in college or now—that would make her treat me the way she has. And I really don’t know if she has the power to end my career, so I need to be careful. I’ve worked too hard for this. The best I can do is go along with the change, and hope she sees that it isn’t the right choice.

“Fine,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. I’m doing everything I can to stay calm, but rage and anxiety are battling one another inside me, and I just want to get out of here. If I don’t, I’m either going to cry or launch myself over her desk and choke her the fuck out. I’m fully aware that neither of those are good options, but it’s where I’m at.

“Good,” she shoots back, looking at me like I’m a nuisance rather than a player who’s gone above and beyond to show her that I belong here and am proud to be a member of this team, despite the way she’s regarded me. “You can leave now.”

I give her a tight nod before turning and exiting the room, not bothering to shut the door behind me. I’m still rattled when I pass by the girls lingering in the locker room, so I walk right out, making a beeline toward the parking lot. This is all very uncharacteristic of my commitment to showing up early and staying late, and shame washes over me that I’ve once again let Dahlia get in my head. Even though I’m not completely spiraling like I would’ve been two months ago, there’s still a pit in my stomach and my body is wound tight all over. I hate the way it feels, and I need to get out of here.

By the time I’m walking into the condo, I’ve calmed down, but I’m still deflated at the thought of not being prepared for our first match. My teammates are going to turn to me for guidance when the change is announced at practice tomorrow, and I’m not sure how I’ll be able to look them in the eyes and say that I think it’s what’s best. But I know I won’t have a choice. It’s my job to make sure everyone feels confident in the plan, even if I don’t agree with it in the least.

I kick off my shoes, pushing them aside and dropping my bags to the floor. The hunger pains I felt before I got called into the coach’s office have been replaced with a heavy knot, so I pass by the kitchen, relieved to find both guys on the couch with video game controllers in their hands. Racecars battle one another on the big screen, and I stop in the doorway to admire the scene. Jackson is on one end, elbows resting on his knees as he focuses intently on the TV. Hawk sits opposite him with both feet on the ottoman, his posture as relaxed as can be while his car comes up behind another before blowing right past.

“Did you just lap me, you piece of shit?” Jacks yells, quickly sliding his eyes to his best friend. Hawk smirks lazily, never breaking his easy concentration as he crosses the finish line. The opposing players funnel in behind him, a checkered flag waving across the screen before the standings appear on the screen.

“Dead last, again,” Hawk says cockily. “With all the time you spend on this game, I feel like you should be better by now.” The tension in my body melts away a little as I watch them, comforted by their playful banter and the feeling of always being at home when I’m in the midst of it.

Jackson scowls. “You’re such a dick.” He shoves a frustrated hand through his hair and reaches forward to set his controller down in front of him, catching me out of the corner of his eye as he does. “Hey, Princess. How was practice?” A hopeless cringe falls over my face before I move through the room, not stopping until I’m close enough to fall into his arms, which are already wide open and waiting for me. As soon as I curl up in his lap, his strong embrace enveloping me, I begin to melt. All the anxiety and worry that were plaguing my mind about what’s going to happen tomorrow slowly fade away, and I sigh contentedly while he tightens around me.

“That good, huh?” he says, lowering his lips to the top of my head as I snuggle deeper into his body.

“Mhmm,” I hum. “I don’t want to talk about it. Right now, I just need to let it all go.” My problems will be there tomorrow, and I’ll deal with them then. That’s one very valuable thing I’ve taken from my recent therapy sessions—to give myself some time to reset and reflect before looking at the situation from a new angle.

Another set of lips presses tenderly against my hair, and my heart does a flip in my chest because, while I love it when Hawk is rough with me, his gentle touches mean so much. “Hey there, Hellcat,” he rasps in my ear. “I’ve got something that’ll make you feel better. Stay here and take all the cuddles you need, then bring Jacks to my room. We’re going to help you clear your head, okay?”

I turn, my eyes locking onto his. I hope he knows how grateful I am that he always seems to know what I need, even when I don’t. “Yeah,” I reply as he brings a large hand to my cheek, taking my mouth with his. The kiss is so soft, yet dominating, and I go dizzy with lust when his tongue just barely brushes mine. Tiny sparks of electricity begin to prickle on my skin, but before they can grow into the fire I know his touch is capable of igniting, he’s gone, disappearing toward the staircase.

I whine quietly, and as if Jackson knew that I wasn’t nearly finished with the kiss, he takes over, bringing my attention to his with a finger under my chin. His lips are fused to mine in an instant, leisurely licking and nipping while I sigh with satisfaction. This—having them both here to give me everything I could ever want—makes me feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

We take our time with one another, savoring the slow, sensual connection as wetness begins to soak the inside of my panties. I squeeze my legs together for relief, halfway annoyed at myself for getting worked up so fast, but this is the effect he has on me. One minute, we’re kissing innocently. The next, my clit is throbbing, and my body is begging me to quell the ache.

He notices my dilemma, chuckling quietly against my lips as he stands with me in his arms. Unable to stop myself, I drop my head into the crook of his neck, dragging my tongue along his heated skin as goosebumps rise in its wake. “Fuck, baby,” he moans, carefully taking the stairs one at a time until we’re at the top of the landing and turning toward Hawk’s room. “You’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?

“Mhmm,” I hum, refusing to stop my teasing licks until he lowers me to my feet. I reluctantly let go of him just as Hawk steps toward me in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs that hang low on his hips, showcasing every rock-hard muscle on his body. I vaguely hear the sound of Jacks removing his clothing through the fog in my brain, but I can’t take my eyes off the tattooed god in front of me long enough to see for myself.

“You look like you had a rough day,” Hawk says seductively as he pulls my shirt over my head, his eyes burning with desire when he sees that I never bothered with a bra after practice. He tosses it to the floor, moving closer until he’s able to run his hands up and down my waist. “For the rest of the night, I want you to be a mindless, empty-headed doll for us. Just be here in this room, where you’re allowed to free yourself from every one of life’s stressors. The only thing that exists inside these walls is the pain and pleasure we’re about to bring. Do you trust us to take care of you?”

Just then, another set of hands joins in, running up my thighs from behind and dipping under my waistband before slowly working my leggings and panties to the floor. Jackson kneels, pressing a soft, barely-there kiss to the sensitive skin of my ass as I step out of my clothes, leaning on the strong forearms in front of me to keep steady because I’m feeling like I could melt into a puddle at any moment. He moves them away, dragging his fingertips up as he stands, settling himself so close to my naked body, that I can feel the heat radiating from his.

“Yes,” I whisper, almost forgetting that Hawk asked me a question. My brain is fuzzy already, and I let out a shaky exhale as he nods in approval.

“What’s your safe word?” he asks, both of them going still as they await my answer. Blood pumps loudly between my ears at the thought of what they’re going to do to me, and I give him what he wants, saying the word out loud.

“Muffins.”

“Good girl, Princess,” Jacks replies against my ear, making warmth bloom to life in my stomach before it snakes its way through my limbs. Even with the darkness that’s washed over Hawk’s expression in front of me, I’ve never felt safer and more cared for than I do right now, wedged between them. The thought makes my heart tighten inside my ribcage because, while I know without a doubt that I’ve been in love with one of them since I was barely even old enough to fully understand the emotion, it’s becoming apparent that I’m developing something very real for the other. I don’t know how or when it happened, but it’s there—and it’s getting stronger every day.

Hawk steps away, walking over to the dresser and digging through the same drawer he pulled the toys from last time. I watch with rapt attention to see what he returns with. He faces us again, but my eyes can’t settle on one item long enough to make sense of anything—although none of that matters as he stops in front of me and speaks.

“Kneel.”