Ray whistles. "Looks like Derek’s making a move on your girl."
Anger clenches my guts. Pinpricks of something hot—something like jealousy stabs into my chest. Jealousy? Nah. I’m not jealous. I have no need to be jealous. I’m not interested in her in that way. No. She can do whatever the fuck she wants, right?
I lower myself onto my back, feet flat, knees bent, then start on my sit-ups. "She’s not my girl." I bend my hips and waist, lock my fingers behind my head, then lift up.
"Oh?" Ray looks at me, then back at her. "So, you’re okay with her leaving with Derek?"
"The fuck?" I release my fingers and jump up to my feet. I turn to find her following Derek up the steps in the direction of the players’ pavilion.
"But she’s not your girl, so I’m sure you don’t mind if she fucks him, eh?"
The pinpricks of heat in my chest ignite into a full-blown fire. The pores on my body pop. My vision tunnels. Only when my fingers wrap around Ray’s collar, do I realize I’ve moved. "Shut the fuck up," I growl.
He arches an eyebrow, then raises both of his hands, palms face out. "I’m not the one you need to go after, man." He jerks his chin in the direction where Abby’s headed.
"Bloody fuck." I release him, then turn and race off the field and toward the stairs leading up between the seats.
"Hey, Kingston, need to talk to you about some changes in the schedule." Coach’s voice follows me.
I ignore him and take the steps two at a time. I reach the top, burst through the doors and into the room. Chest heaving, blood pounding at my temples, I glance around the empty room, then turn toward the door that leads toward the players’ dressing rooms.
Up another flight of stairs, through another waiting room, and then I burst into the dressing room. There’s no one there. I pause, my chest rising and falling, sweat beading my forehead. Where the fuck is she?
The sound of voices reaches me. I move past the lockers and in the direction of the showers. The hell are they doing? My heart slams into my ribcage. My pulse rate ratchets up. My muscles tense. I turn another corner and find him holding her hand. He’s. Holding. Her. Hand. He has his fingers around her wrist. How dare he? The pressure that’s been building in my chest seems to explode through my body. My shoulders bunch. In two steps, I’ve reached them.
Derek looks up at me, then smirks.
I bury my fist in his face.
Abby screams.
A flashbulb goes off, somewhere to the side.
Derek releases her hand—finally, fuck—staggers back, then promptly crumples to the ground.
Another flashbulb pops. I blink the light out of my eyes and zero in on the man who’s snapping away with his camera.
A growl tears out of me. I leap forward, close the distance to the guy, tear his camera from him, then throw it aside.
"My camera!" he yelps and reaches for it, but I grab him by his collar and haul him up to his feet.
"The fuck you doing here? I’m going to sue you for trespassing."
"And I’m going to sue you for assault if you hit me," the douchebag counters.
"Oh, yeah?" I raise my fist.
Abby throws her arms about my waist. "Stop! Don’t do it, Cade, please!"
I blink and stay with my arm raised for a few seconds. "Count your blessings, asshole." I lower my arm to my side.
I release him, and he steps back, then glances between me and Abby and a lascivious look comes into his eyes. "I can see why you took out your own teammate. I would, too, for that piece of ass, I—" He gurgles, and his eyes roll back when my fist connects with his face.
"Oh, no, Cade!" Abby gasps in horror as the douchecanoe sinks to the floor.
I hear the door open behind me, followed by a beat of silence before my friend, Declan Beauchamp asks, "The hell is happening here?"
"What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be off shooting the next big Hollywood hit, or whatever it is you hotshot actors do?" I wince as Abby dabs at the torn skin of my knuckles. We’re in the coach’s office adjoining the dressing room.
"More to the point, what were you doing swinging at a news guy?" Declan leans a hip against the wall of the dressing room.
"You first." I scowl at one of my best friends, who’s face currently graces the top-grossing movie in Hollywood. We met when he was a struggling actor and I was trying out for the English cricket team. Asshole comes from a moneyed background, but he refused help from his father and struck out on his own to make it in the film world—a prospect as challenging as my shot at the national team. Our friendship was sealed over the course of one memorable bender that lasted forty-eight hours—during which time Knight, Declan and I bar hopped every nightclub in London’s East End and exchanged stories about the challenges we were facing in our chosen careers. A month later, Knight shipped off to the army, Declan landed his first role in a movie, and I was chosen as a reserve for the cricket team. The three of us have kept in touch since, and with Knight away, Declan and I have only grown closer.
"I was filming in London; thought I’d find you here." He smirks. "Didn’t expect to see you beating up teammates and journalists, alike. Not that I have anything against the latter, considering I spend so much time dodging them myself, but man, you’re pushing your luck, you know that?"
Abby digs into my knuckles, and I yell, "Woman, that hurts."
"Good." She wraps the bandage around them, then jumps to her feet. "Seriously, why did you have to swing at the journalist? And you refused to let me talk to him."
"He looked at you. He dared to talk about you in disrespectful terms, and you think I was going to let you talk to him and strike a deal with him?" I growl.
She stares at me. "That’s what I do. I work in PR, remember? Also, I work in a media profession. I meet unsavory characters all the time—"
"Then I’m going to beat up the lot of them."
She gapes. "Are you hearing yourself?"
"Nothing wrong with what I said."
"He’s a journalist," she murmurs.
"So?" I raise a shoulder.
"It’s bad to rub these people the wrong way."
"I’ll live."
She shakes her head. "He’s going to make your life miserable in the future."
"I’ll pay him off."
"Do you think your money can buy you everything?"
"You should know that it does."
She pales, then glances away. "Uh, I… I’m going to get a breath of fresh air." She nods at Declan. "Good to meet you." Turning, she walks out.
Silence descends. I scowl in the direction she walked out, then turn on Declan. "What?"
"I didn’t say anything." He raises his hands.
"But you want to," I spit out.
"You know what I’m going to say." He searches my features.
"That I was wrong in what I said earlier. That’s what you’re going to say, aren’t you?"
He hesitates. "It’s the first time I’ve seen you all strung out over a woman."
"Strung out?" I shake my head. "What does that even mean?"