Chapter 74
We hadn’t walked ten feet when a familiar voice, dripping with
venom, cut through the noise.
“Well, if it isn’t almighty Coach Mercer…”
I turned, schooling my features into something calm. “How are you
doing, Devon?”
Devon Reilly. My former quarterback–and one of the most arrogant,
resentful, petty, and manipulative players I’d ever had the misfortune
to coach. He’d been great on the field, no denying that, but he was a
natural–born troublemaker. A dirty player with a pathological need to
bend the truth until it broke.
I’d had to cut him loose after he showed up to our final game high on
something strong enough to make his pupils swallow his irises. He’d
nearly broken another player’s nose during the first quarter.
Devon’s mouth twisted into a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Guess
you traded up. Heard you’ve got yourself a new golden boy now. Hope
he knows how long that spot lasts with you.”
Before I could answer, Marcus’s voice came from behind me, sharp
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enough to slice the tension. “Drop it, Reilly.”
Devon’s gaze lingered on me a second longer before he scoffed and
shouldered past.
Marcus clapped me on the back, his tone lighter. “C’mon, ignore
him.”
I let Marcus steer me toward a circle of guys who were way too eager
to shove another beer into my hand. Before I knew it, someone
pressed a red Solo cup into my palm and declared me their ringer for
beer pong.
Apparently, the rumor was that I’d been an expert back in my college
days.
They weren’t wrong.
The first throw hit dead center, earning a round of cheers. I smirked, lined up the second, and sank that one too. The game carried on with guys jostling my shoulder for luck and shoving drinks at me like we were old frat brothers instead of coach and former players.
But even in the noise, I felt him.
Across the room, Noah leaned back against the wall, beer in hand,
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watching me like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to glare me into ash
or drag me upstairs. His hand ran through his hair–slow, deliberate-
the way he always did when his nerves were chewing at him.
And all I could think about was taking him out of there and getting
those hands and that mouth around my cock instead.
I downed another cup, pretending not to notice him, but every nerve
in my body was tuned to his gaze. The heat in it. The edge.
Then I saw her.
Lexie Hart.
Beautiful, sharp–eyed, and currently looking at Noah like he was the
last glass of water in the desert.
I tossed the next ball, sank it without looking, and tried not to let the
irritation curl too obviously through my smile.
For all the attention I’d gotten since walking in, not once had I stepped close enough to anyone to threaten what Noah and I had.
A couple of girls had gotten bold, pressing up against me and purring
invitations to “show them the view upstairs.” And one of the players -despite trying to keep face–had leaned in to murmur that he’d love
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some “private coaching” from me anytime.
Any other time in my life, I might’ve taken one of them up on it. I
wasn’t a saint. I’d had my fill of quick flings and casual indulgences.
But since Noah, the idea of anyone else touching me felt… wrong.
Unappealing. Like drinking flat beer after you’ve tasted something
rare and intoxicating.
Noah had ruined me for anyone else, and I’d let him. Happily.
That’s why, when my next glance across the room caught him leaning
in toward Lexie–smiling, laughing, looking every inch the golden boy
she’d probably dreamed of since cheer camp–something sharp and
dangerous crossed my mind.
If he wanted to play with fire tonight, I’d be more than happy to show
him how quickly it could burn.
