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CHAPTER SIX-FINLEY

Hours later, I’m lying on my tiny bunk in the RV, legs kicked up against the wall, phone tossed somewhere near my pillow, trying very hard not to replay today’s events over and over again in my head like a horny teenager.

“That ball really showed you who’s boss,” I say aloud to no one at all, and I slap my hands right over my face.

“Really, Finley? That’s what you came up with? Why not just tattoo ‘I’m into you but too repressed to do anything about it’ on your forehead?”

I groan and swing my legs down.

I need air.

Or sugar.

Or maybe both.

The campground's quiet now.

Most of the players are asleep, bunked up on the team bus.

It’s peaceful, with the hum of insects and the occasional whoosh of wind through the trees.

Carolina and Dane are probably in their hotel room by now, doing whatever engaged people do with one another.

I’m just happy to not have to listen to it.

Seriously, my headphones are grateful for the break.

I slip out, hoodie over my tank, flip-flops barely making a sound on the gravel.

Two seconds later, I’m sweating. So I leave the hoodie hanging on the RV doorknob and continue my journey.

The vending machine is past the makeshift rec shed, just around the corner from where the bus and RV are parked.

I should really avoid snacking, but now that I’ve got my mind set on something to nosh, I know I won’t rest without at least checking out the options.

I’m almost there. The chirping of insects and hooting of an owl are the only noises.

Until…

“Couldn’t sleep, Red?”

I nearly leap out of my skin.

And of course he’s there.

Leaning against the open shed, arms stretched overhead, fingers loosely hooked around a metal support beam like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like he doesn’t know exactly what it does to someone walking up on him in the dark.

Which, for the record— I am that someone.

The man is a giant. Freakishly tall.

Like, of course, he can reach the exposed beam overhead.

Why wouldn’t he be able to casually drape himself on architecture like a living statue of intimidation and abs?

The floodlight behind him casts him in shadows and sharp lines, half his face hidden, the rest carved from something ancient and moody.

He looks like trouble.

Like a warning.

Like a whole-ass red flag with muscles.

And because the universe fucking hates me, he’s shirtless. Again.

Just standing there, all bronzed skin and tattoos, sweat glistening like someone spritzed him with a hydration bottle for dramatic effect.

His shorts ride low on his hips, revealing just enough of that V to make me forget how words work.

Honestly, if someone were casting a brooding antihero in a sports romance movie, Koa Jackson would be the poster boy.

My brain says run.

My body?

Yeah, she’s already planning an ill-advised detour.

Because despite the growls and the glares and his habit of acting like I’m the human equivalent of static cling, it doesn’t matter.

He still makes my knees weak.

And unfortunately for me?

He knows it.

My mouth goes dry.

“Jesus. Give a girl a warning next time, would you?” I try for sass, but it comes out breathy. “I thought I was about to get got.”

He grins slowly, like a lion watching something very edible.

“You’re not that lucky, Red.”

I fold my arms, mostly to hide the fact that my nipples just did a little high-five beneath my tank top.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I shoot back.

He pushes off the beam, stepping closer.

The air between us tightens like a rubber band.

I swear I feel it in my nipples.

I know, I know.

It sounds crass, but really.

They’re so hard they could cut glass.

And he knows it too. In fact, that molten gaze of his flicks to my breasts, to where my sensitive pebbles are pressed tight against the thin cotton of my tank top.

Koa growls a deep rolling sound just before he lifts that laser stare to my face.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says quietly.

I raise a brow. “You’ve been glaring at me since I got off the damn plane.”

“Yeah.” He steps even closer. “But that’s the thing, Red. I don’t think I can do that anymore.”

My stomach flips.

“Look, I’m not some super fan here to collect sweaty jerseys, Koa,” I say, chin lifted. “I’m not gonna fall over because you’ve got abs and a bad attitude.”

He laughs.

And oh my fuck. It’s deep and low, and it does something to me that should be illegal.

“Good,” he murmurs, voice like dark velvet. “Wouldn’t want you to trip and fall for me, Red. Not unless you planned to stay down.”

He takes another slow, deliberate step forward, like he enjoys the way my breath catches.

“Please,” I snap, squaring my shoulders. “I’m not some star-struck jersey-chaser. You want a girl to swoon over your questionable prowess and your enormous ego? Try someone who doesn’t know better.”

“I want you to fight back.”

Closer.

“I want you to push.”

I blink, heat crawling up my neck.

“Why?”

“Because I’ve had to watch you for days. Fucking days. Talking with the other fellas, laughing, walking around in those damn tights with that mouth and those eyes and that body like a fucking temptation wrapped in equal parts juicy temptation and hot as fuck sarcasm—and I’ve done nothing.”

He’s in front of me now, inches away.

His hands stay loose at his sides, but every muscle in his body is coiled tight.

“I’ve played nice. I’ve stayed away. But tonight, Finley?” His voice drops, rough and raw. “I don’t want to stay away.”

My breath catches.

And before I can overthink it, I look up at him and whisper, “So don’t.”

His hand moves to my waist, fingers hot and sure, and when he pulls me against his chest, it’s like gravity shifts.

“Fuck it,” he grunts.

Then, our mouths collide—not soft, not slow.

It’s wild. Hot.

Everything we’ve been holding back poured into one reckless, desperate kiss.

My back hits the side of the shed, and I gasp as his thigh slides between mine. His hands are in my hair, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s taking out my ponytail holder.

Koa groans as he threads his thick fingers through my hair, still damp from the shower I took a little while ago.

“Fuck. I knew you’d be sweet,” he groans, licking into my mouth and making my whole body tremble with need.

He tugs on my hair, angling me where he wants me, and I let him.

It feels too good not to. But I’m no idle observer.

I give as good as I get. Kissing him back with everything I’ve got.

My hands are busy too, digging into his bare back, fingers splaying over muscle and heat and sweat.

This isn’t careful.

This isn’t sweet.

It’s rough.

Carnal.

Hungry.

And I’m right there with him.