Page 47 of Unwritten Rules (The Sunburnt Hearts #1)
Chapter Twenty-Three
TATUM
T he bed sheets are a tangled mess around my legs, with one foot sticking out and the other trying to find the cool spot on the mattress I have yet to reach.
My skin in inflamed, despite the ceiling fan running at full power, and a light sheen of sweat has broken out across my brow and upper lip.
The bed shorts and tank top I threw on after the shower feel uncomfortable against my skin, and I’m itching to tear them off in the hope it’ll make everything feel less overwhelming.
I don’t know what’s going on with me. To start, I couldn’t concentrate on the words coming out of Dad’s mouth over dinner.
I didn’t need to study his features to know he could tell something was up with me—it was evident in the way I kept glancing at my phone, hoping to see a text message from Sinnett.
I knew it was rude to do something like that while eating dinner, but it was a knee-jerk reaction.
I couldn’t stop myself from searching for any sign of him—however small—when he was the only thing on my mind.
Thankfully, Dad didn’t say anything and continued telling me about his day.
“The Wolves are looking good for the game tomorrow night,” he told me, a smile touching his lips. “I’m so pleased Sinnett was cleared to play. The guys have been performing well without him, but I know they could be better, especially if he’s on the field.”
I understand the stress he’s under right now, especially with Sinnett returning.
The Wolves are sitting on the leaderboard in second place, which is a great spot to be in at this point in the season.
However, Dad is a perfectionist, so he will do everything in his power to get his team to the number one position by the end of the season.
They’ll have to, if they want to win the minor premiership and then go on to win the grand final.
He’s always been a driven man—prepared to put his heart and soul into the sport he has loved his entire life.
And while I admire his strength and determination, I would hate to see him burnout and lose his spark down the line if he doesn’t take it easy.
Rugby is his life, and now with Mum gone, he’s dived head first into it.
We all need a distraction from the grief and heartache of losing a loved one, but he hasn’t slowed down in years, and I worry it’ll catch up to him sooner rather than later.
To top off my inability to fall asleep, I have a certain messy-haired, blue-eyed halfback on my mind.
Ever since he got cleared to return to the field on Tuesday, I have been a ball of nerves and excitement.
Nervous because I’m worried he might aggravate his quad if positioned in a bad tackle and is forced to take more time off to recover, and excited because I finally get to see him out on the field doing what he has worked his entire life to achieve.
Working with him throughout his recovery made it clear to me just how passionate he is about the sport. Not only does he love being out there, fuelled by the cheers from the fans, but he has a drive about him that pushes him to better himself each game.
We went for a drive around North Sydney last night, and somehow, the topic of conversation shifted to his younger days playing rugby.
“I wouldn’t say I was anything special, but I did try my best each game,” he had said, his fingers drawing lazy circles on my thigh draped over the centre console, resting over his.
Warmth lit up his eyes, and he smiled softly.
“After school, Khai and I would toss the ball around in the backyard, looking to improve our skills. At that moment, I hadn’t fallen in love with rugby yet. ”
“When did you?” I questioned, tilting my head to the side.
“It wasn’t until I was seventeen and joined the U18s team.
” Sinnett turned his attention to the crashing waves behind the car.
“Coach Stevens took me under his wings after my first training session with him. He saw something special in me. Something I didn’t know existed.
It was he who taught me to love the sport, accepting each ache and pain after a game and channelling it into a sense of self-worth and pride.
And eventually, my mindset shifted from the sport being a hobby to something I wanted to pursue and make a career from. ”
“Whatever happened to Coach Stevens?”
“We still keep in contact to this day,” he told me. “He comes by to watch home games when he gets the chance.”
“I’m sure he’s proud of you,” I told him, caressing his hand resting on my knee.
Sinnett smiled. “I hope so.”
It’s clear Sinnett was born to do this—to be the star he’s perceived to be—but he puts far too much pressure on himself to be the best. I hear it in the way his voice shakes at the edges when he talks about the sport in any capacity.
I see it in the way his features harden at the mere mention of transitioning back into his regular training schedule.
He doesn’t need to outwardly tell me he’s worried about returning to the field and letting his teammates, coaches and club down if he doesn’t perform as well as he did before he got injured.
I wish I could tell him that he doesn’t need to put so much pressure on himself to be the best when all he needs to do is perform at his best. From there, everything else will fall into place.
With a huff, I throw my arms down on the mattress at my sides and blink up at the ceiling. Giving up on trying to get a wink of sleep, I stare ahead and attempt to clear the corners of my mind. Maybe I should try counting sheep. People swear by it.
One sheep.
Two sheep.
Three sheep.
Four she?—
The vibration of my phone on the bedside table pulls me away from my counting.
Goddamnit .
Abandoning all hope that the fluffy sheep can pull me into a deep slumber, I roll onto my side and reach for my phone. The device bursts to life, momentarily blinding me until I swipe across the screen and lower the brightness. Blinking rapidly, I take note of the time. 3:15 AM.
My heart slams into my chest when I see the sender of the text message.
Sinnett .
SIN: Please tell me I’m not the only one who can’t sleep.
The rhythm of my erratic pulse thumps in time with my heart.
My eyes linger on his message, fingers hovering over the screen.
I haven’t spoken to him all day because he was busy with training, and I was getting lost in a mountain of paperwork.
I had grown used to seeing him on a regular basis, but now that he’s been cleared, our time together has been cut short with only the occasional session to check in on him once a week.
I knew it would come to an end eventually, but I didn’t think it would bum me out as much as it has this past week.
Now the question becomes: what do I respond with?
Should I respond at all? If I want to get even a couple of hours of sleep, it would be in my best interest not to say a word, because I know if I do, I’ll get swept up in his words like every other time.
Unfortunately, I have the willpower of a six-year-old in a lolly store.
TATE: Do you have a camera in here watching me? Because yeah, sleep is eluding me.
Sinnett’s response comes quickly, sending my heart into overdrive.
SIN: Do you have something on your mind, Tate?
TATE: A lot of things.
SIN: Do share.
I exhale a long breathe and tap on the screen, my fingers a blurry of movement.
TATE: I can’t give away all of my secrets, but I will say you’re pretty up there on the list.
SIN: Me? Well, I wish I could say it didn’t go both ways.
My heart thunders in my chest as I re-read the message at least twenty times.
He’s thinking about me.
Sinnett is thinking about me at three in the morning.
TATE: All good things, I hope. I would hate for you to be awake this late, thinking of all the ways you could tell me you don’t want to see me anymore.
SIN: On the contrary, strawberry. My thoughts are far from it.
If my skin wasn’t on fire before, it is now.
I’m afraid to touch it for fear of burning myself.
I don’t know how this man does it. All it takes is for him to say something as simple as he’s thinking about me, and my body reacts like a dog in heat.
It’s a foreign feeling to me, and not something I experienced when I was with my ex-boyfriend.
An ache pounds in my core, followed by liquid heat pooling at the edges, fuelling the feverish fire across my body. I drag my bottom lip between my teeth, fighting the urge to relieve the pressure building.
Feeling risky, I reach over and switch the lamp on beside the bed and sit up against the mound of pillows behind me.
With light filtering across the room, I notice the windows overlooking the backyard are slick with rain drops from the downpour that did its best to lull me to sleep at midnight, but since then, it has stopped, bringing with it a howling wind that rattles the frame with each gust.
With my heart in my throat, I hold the phone above my head with the camera pointed at me.
I smooth down the flyaway baby hairs around my face and adjust my tank top slightly.
My nipple piercings press against the thin, white material, and the white and pink checkered shorts ride up my thighs, showing off more of my legs than necessary.
I swallow hard and turn my mouth up in a tight-lipped smile, snapping a photo that is far from my comfort zone.
My hands shake as my thumb hovers over the send button.
Somehow, Sinnett manages to bring out a side to me I never knew existed.
Sending a revealing photo like this is not something I would’ve ever considered doing with Jayden.
Even if he begged for it, I would decline because it’s not something I’m comfortable doing.
But there is something about Sinnett that has me wanting to live life on the edge a little bit, and do something that will have him feeling the same way I do—hot and bothered.