Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
And it’d been paying off.
I wasn’t suddenly some untouchable version of myself, wasn’t walking on water or putting up cartoon numbers every game. But I’d been sharper and faster, not hesitating so much before the snap. I wasn’t overthinking every route, every cut, every rep until I strangled the life out of it.
I’d always been disciplined. Careful. Controlled.
But lately, I’d been free.
And that led to me being explosive.
Sitting there in the middle of a loud locker room that smelled like detergent, sweat, and somebody’s disgusting protein shake, I found myself wondering if maybe it had less to do with football than I wanted it to.
Practice had been stable. Guidance from my coaches hadn’t shifted at all.
What had changed was how I spent my off time.
Maybe Emily had gotten under my skin deeper than I’d realized.
Maybe sneaking around with her, laughing with her, touching her whenever I could get away with it, living in all that chaos and heat and recklessness — maybe it had cracked something open in me.
Maybe letting go in one part of my life had made me better in the other.
That thought should’ve made me uneasy.
Instead, it made my pulse kick, like I’d stumbled upon the fountain of youth and was desperate to steal another drink.
“Look at him,” Lavonte said, pointing at me like I was under investigation. “Bro’s not even listening. He’s thinking about her right now.”
“I’m thinking about the game,” I said flatly.
“Sure, you are,” Kyle said.
Gino folded his arms, narrowing his eyes at me. “What, specifically?”
“The defensive structure,” I deadpanned.
Joshua barked out a laugh. “The defensive structure?”
“Yeah.”
Kyle zipped his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “That’s crazy, because you look like you’re thinking about bending somebody over a kitchen counter.”
The room exploded.
I laughed despite myself, shoving him in the shoulder as he passed. “Eat shit.”
“Aw,” he said, clutching his chest. “He didn’t deny it.”
“It’s none of your business.”
“That,” Gino said, pointing at my chest, “is a confirmation.”
I shook my head, but I couldn’t stop smiling now.
I couldn’t stop feeling it either — that charge under my skin, that low hum that had been there for weeks now. Anticipation. Restlessness. Hunger.
For the game tomorrow.
For her.
“Whatever’s got you playing like this,” Lavonte said, standing and grabbing his slides, “Keep it going. I don’t care if it’s a girl, a witch, or a Halloween curse.”
I laughed, but when the noise around me picked back up and the guys moved on to talking shit about somebody’s costume party plans, I sat there for a second longer, staring into my locker.
A witch, huh.
Didn’t feel that far off.
Because ever since Emily, it was like my life had split open, like I was under a spell.
And I had no idea yet if that was going to save me — or ruin me.
My phone buzzed just as I slung my duffle bag into the back of my Bronco.
Trouble: Meet me here.
She dropped a pin, and when I clicked on it, I couldn’t figure out where the hell she was asking me to go. It looked like a parking lot, and it was about a two-minute drive away.
Me: When?
Trouble: Now.
Maybe I should have been embarrassed by how fast I turned the ignition and sped off at her request, but that hum was taking over my senses, my body vibrating with the need to be near her.
My guess wasn’t far off. It wasn’t a parking lot, but a garage. I entered and took a ticket before calling Emily.
“I’m here.”
“Fifth floor,” she said, and then hung up.
I shook my head, wondering what the hell she was up to.
When I rounded the corner that led from the fourth floor to the fifth, I hit the brakes, heart lurching into my throat.
“Oh, shit,” I cursed in surprise. My body was already in fight or flight. I was ready to kick the car into reverse and steamroll my way right out of that garage.
But in the next breath, I realized the source of my instinctual fear was also the source of my every desire lately.
Emily stood in the middle of the garage between two lines of parked cars.
Wearing a fucking mask.
It was black, completely covering her face, with neon pink exes for eyes and matching cross stitches over her mouth.
And somehow, despite the fact that she looked like she’d stepped straight out of a slasher film and into my nightmares, I knew exactly who it was.
Maybe it was the way she stood — all confidence and mischief, legs planted like she owned the entire goddamn garage.
Maybe it was her braids spilling from the mask, or the curve of her body, impossible to mistake even under the dim fluorescent lights.
Or maybe it was the black wrist splint strapped to one arm, sleek and low-profile, like she’d found the goth, Halloween-approved version of the medical one she’d been wearing.
Jesus Christ.