I didn't dare break formation, even though I hadn’t even really started trying, but Kate’s wrath would outlast Bolton’s. She was the lesser evil.
He walked right past the bench, the water, and towels for the team went straight to the tunnel entrance.
My eyes collided with Kate’s, who was already looking at me intensely. I let my brows collapse, and my face turned into a physical apology for what I was about to do as the girls kept cheering around me.
I broke formation and jogged lightly to the tunnel to Bolton. I knew he probably didn't want to see me, but I had this nagging need to try.
The tunnel wasn't cute, it was just a concrete tunnel leading to the locker rooms. It wasn't anywhere people wanted to be; it was a funnel for the anxious nerves, excited rage-to-be on the field, and the emotions that couldn't be trapped within these walls. Without those feelings swirling in the air, the tunnel felt barren and empty—dead, even.
I heard his helmet fly against the concrete floor creating an echoing bang that made me jump.
I should be used to this feeling. Every time I was around Bolton, my bones jumped and my functioning normally wasn't as seamless as it should be.
“Bolton?”
He roared so loudly I thought it was meant to deafen me to any other should but his vocals.
“I was just checking on you...”
It was an on-the-spot lie that had as many holes as Swiss cheese. I was there to beg for forgiveness if Caellum had told him anything.
My plan to prove my loyalty was hijacked by Kate’s plan to prove peasants shouldn't be crowned queen.
“Check on me, huh? After you pissed off Caellum enough to reward us with another loss? We actually had a chance this time.”
The guilt sunk in and paralyzed me head to toe. Everything about me stilled; even as he walked forward, coated in pads, making him seem even bigger, I still couldn’t move. The navy blue jersey bounced off his eyes, making them darker—villainous. I should be scared of him, and maybe somewhere in the back of my mind, behind lust and envy, I was.
“I… I was trying to help.”
He was right in my face now, so close I could see the sweat beaded up along his hairline and even the ends were wet. He didn't push the rebellious pieces of his hair away that fell into his eyes. “By giving him ammunition? You don't know him. You might as well have danced on his fucking grave.”
I stood so still I felt like a sore muscle, tight and quivering from the excess tension.
“I was trying to prove my loyalty.”
I was too close to actually see if he got closer, but I noticed his lips more than before. I swallowed the lump of desire in my throat. I wanted to keep hating him: his attitude, his good looks, his ability to always be right, and malfunctions I experienced every time he was close.
Wanted to, was easier said than done when need took priority.
His tone was soaked with disapproval: “Next time don't prove anything, Arianna.”
My mouth collapsed as I ran through my on-cue sarcastic responses that I could have given him.
He moved around me, like he could slither instead of walk now. His still gloved hand reached around my waist and pulled me back into his pads. He was touching me just how I ached for him and now there was football equipment wedged between us.
I melted into his touch when my head fell to one side, begging for his skin to touch mine. I felt his lips move against my neck, as he spoke in a less disappointed tone.
“Queens don't have to prove anything.”
The air I was holding in was hot and bitter. I was desperate for the guy I hated to do more than whisper against my neck.
I regretted my next moves with so much angst I could have stomped my foot. “If I'm such a queen, why do you refuse to be my king?”
It wasn't until my question hung in the air, unanswered, that I understood the error of shooting off the arrows of my words without permission. I never regretted my unfiltered thoughts… until this one.
No one wanted to be the needy one, the one who made the first confession, or the one who admitted something unreturned.
Yet, here I was, in a tunnel during a game break, being a type of extra hated.
“I'm not going to be anyone’s anything, Arianna. Stop trying to make me not hate you.”
I knew the feeling.
I wanted to hate him the same way I did when I met him, but now I hated him for not giving into me, his temperament, his ability to hate me, when I could return the favor.
His voice didn't get louder until the word “hate.” That word felt more powerful, louder, exactly how it sounded. It ate at my soul.
Why wouldn't he stop hating me? I was prepared to call a truce.
I pushed past him, making sure my shoulder connected with his padding, which hurt me more than him. I wasn't going to stop hating him until he stopped hating me.
I rolled my eyes for fun. I had just pissed off his mortal enemy without trying. I could hold a grudge.
Back on the field, I kept my eyes anywhere he wasn't, even though I could feel the anger behind his orbs trying to burn me from afar. The only time his gaze sacrificed me was when he was on the field or arguing with Nyx.
It wasn't hard to miss something was going on with Nyx every time Bolton’s hand pushed against his chest like he was holding him back.
The curiosity had its claws deep in my motivation, and now I had to know what was happening.
The whole game I was mouthing cheers and half-assing my way to the edge closest to the team, even though they were masters at low tones in their husky voices and keeping whatever it was private. It didn't stop me from trying.
Kate barked my direction, “Arianna! Are you on cheer or the football team?”
Bolton
The dark gray sky airbrushed with smoky clouds opened up into a downpour. I could barely feel it until my glove slipped against the ball, and I had to readjust my grip, before I soared it to Nyx half a field away in a perfect spiral.
I may not have felt it through my jersey and pads, but the field became softer than I was used to, and my vision became tainted by the sheet of rain.
Every sense was paralyzed, and the home field advantage lost any real value when Caellum's team already beat us once this season.
I was just living through the replay at this point.
My muscles screamed with ache, the lack of morale felt heavy instead of light, and I wanted to give up. Giving up wasn't an option, it wasn't part of my make-up.
I glanced up at the clock, draining down to seconds in the last quarter, and I rushed into the hoard of oversized defensive linebackers. The clash of my pads against theirs sounded like thunder without the lightning.
No, my lightning was on the sidelines being the all-consuming distraction she knew she was.
I was pushed down to the ground with one heavy shove, no matter how much I felt rooted into the ground.
With the same force, I fell against the soaked field, rattling in my cage of pads, until my body went limp and somber.
I stared right into the rain, watching the angry drops create some kind of illusion that I was still moving when I wasn’t.
I knew the clock hadn’t run out of seconds, because everyone was still moving and the crowd was trying to motivate whoever had the ball on my team with their sheer screams.
If that shit works for you. It doesn’t get my dick hard like purple hair. She wasn’t cheering.