Page 118 of For the Fans

He inches closer to me. “I think you do…”

“If you wanna gethurt, dumbass, I can make that happen,” I snarl at him, and he chuckles.

“There’s the Kyran we all know and love.” He winks.

Ugh. He’s so obnoxious.

I feel like my cheeks are flushing, and I’m not sure why. My eyes dip briefly over the loose tank top he’s wearing, which exposes the muscles in his sides… Sprinkled with ink. Glistening with a little sweat. His gray sweats are resting low on his hips, fitted enough that I can make out the slope of his ass…

I remember holding on to it… How round and firm it was in my hands.

My throat is suddenly bone-dry, a nauseated feeling wiggling around inside me.

Spinning away from him quickly, I grunt, “I’m outta here.”

“Wait,” he calls, and I reluctantly pause, peeking at him over my shoulder. He drops the dumbbell and hops over to me. “You wanna spot me?”

“No,” I huff, ignoring the fact that I can smell him; that goddamn familiar scent I can’t identify.

He inches in even closer and whispers, “Don’t be a baby.”

It’s too warm. I gotta get out of here.

“Fuck off…” I mumble again, stomping away and clinging to the hostility as I leave the gym…

With the distinct feeling of his eyes on my ass.

I’m exhausted, but I’m flying high.

We’re in Arizona and we just won another playoff game. Kicked the crap out of the Wildcats, thirty-two to fourteen, then went out to dinner and celebrated as a team, getting rowdy and annoying everyone else in the restaurant.

Not kidding. The people of Tucson weren’t exactly thrilled about us New Englanders showing up and crushing their team.

But we don’t care. We’re killing it this season, and it feels like nothing can stop us. Which is why when Guty and Theo begged me to come party in Theo’s room with the rest of the team and a bunch of girls, I was actually considering it—even though Coach strictly warned us against getting wild tonight.

But then the rational part of me insisted on going back to my room to get some rest. We have a seven a.m. flight back to Boston and I’d really like not to be hungover for it.

I’m sharing a room with Guty, and since he’s up the hall causing mayhem, I have the room to myself, which is perfect. I just want to turn the TV on at low volume and let it lull me to sleep. I’m sure it won’t take long, because my body is aching and my mind is tired as hell.

Stripping down to my boxers, I crawl into the insanely comfy hotel bed, flipping channels until I settled on reruns ofThe Office. I plug my phone in to charge on the nightstand, setting two alarms to make sure I don’t oversleep. That’s when I spot a new text.

Avi: Congrats, superstar. Awesome game tonight.

Choosing to be polite, I type out a quick reply.

Me: Thanks

He reads it the second I hit send, and I can’t help the way my lips curl smugly at the idea that he was waiting for me to respond. His typing bubbles pop up, and I wait patiently for whatever nonsense he’s about to say.

Avi: So I guess you can still win games even without your good luck charm around…

Avi: (Me)

My smile grows, and even a little chuckle erupts from my lips before I recognize what I’m doing and crush it to send him a response.

Me: It was definitely easier to concentrate without your annoying ass popping and locking on the sidelines

Avi: I knew you were watching my performance