My stomach twists into a tight knot. A hot pulse of heat throbs between my legs. Does he need to talk right next to my ear and breathe all over my neck like that?
We reach the sideline and he releases me, only to circle around. He draws me close, his hands settling on my hips.
I peer up into his eyes, trying to read the mystery clouding the blackness. I don’t believe the interest in his expression is for me. It’s for show. For whatever reason, he wants them all to believe he wants me.
“Did you bring pom-poms to cheer with?”
The question startles me out of trying to figure him out.
I snort. “Yeah, I can totally hide pom-poms in this crap.”
Flashing a quick smirk, Devlin toys with the edge of the skirt. I open my mouth, only to clamp it shut when he drags his fingers up my thigh. He moves higher, skimming beneath the vest, stroking my stomach. His touch heats my skin and makes me fight off a tremble.
I hate that he can make my insides coil. What is wrong with me?
Devlin hums thoughtfully. “I see what you mean. No practical storage space.”
My jaw drops. Devlin’s shoulders shake with a silent laugh. He’s…having fun. While he torments me with an audience.
“Stop enjoying this,” I snap in an undertone, glancing at the group of girls nearby.
If they didn’t hate me before, they definitely do now. I have their favorite hottie all over me. I don’t want to watch my back for mean girl attacks on top of Devlin’s games. He’s making me more visible, painting a bigger bullseye on my back in blood.
“But it’s oh so fun.” Devlin tips his head to give me a smile.
This one startles me because it’s not like his fake ones. I think it might be genuine. It makes him appear…less evil. My heart thuds and my eyes drop to the dimple winking at me.
“Cut it out.” Flustered, I press my palms to his chest and push. “Go play soccer.”
Devlin covers my hands with his, squeezing them against his jersey. “Wish me luck. You’re my personal pep squad.”
“You don’t need it.” I need him out of my space. I have to clear my head, find my happy place to do what he ordered.
The threat of the kiss clause hangs over my head.
“Blair.”
I dart my gaze up to meet his. Hair hangs across his forehead. One side of his mouth tugs up as wicked amusement dances in his gaze.
Oh, god. I haven’t really thought about it all day, too busy enduring the humiliation of wearing the cheer uniform. If I don’t kiss him at the end of the practice match, I don’t get paid.
Devlin squeezes my trapped hands again. “You suck at this. Say ‘good luck, Devlin’ or something.”
I lick my lips. Devlin zeroes in on my mouth.
“Good luck, asshole.”
“Dev, let’s go!” Bishop calls.
“In a minute,” he shouts back, staring intently at my lips. His thumb brushes over them. “You’re here to cheer for me. When I win, I’m coming to claim these.”
My stomach bottoms out.
Devlin grins at whatever he finds in my deer-in-headlights expression, then pinches my cheek before jogging onto the field. The girls gathered squeal for him, forming their own squad. I stand there, dumbfounded.
I touch my lips, where his soft caress lingers. His words repeat in my head.
When I win, I’m coming to claim these.
My entire body is wracked by a shiver from the hot and cold sensation traveling over my skin.
How can I be turned on right now? Doesn’t that make me some kind of fucked up, to want a kiss from the guy who has bullied me for three long years?
Scrubbing my face, I think I finally understand the dilemma Gemma faced last year.
I never thought I’d grapple with the same problem.
“You know,” says one girl that breaks off from the group and crosses over the invisible line in the sand between us. “Devlin doesn’t do girlfriends. He does hookups. So whatever you think you’ve got with him, it’s not gonna last.”
Normally, I’d ignore her. Hell, I agree with her. But it’s getting hard to take people’s crap around here while I hold my tongue. The fiery need to fight back stirs beneath my skin.
Tipping my head, I click my tongue in sympathy. “Aw, are you jealous? That’s cute. Did you know jealousy derives from feeling threatened?”
The girl squints, curling her lip. “You’re trash. He won’t want you for long.” Her eyes rake over the cheer uniform. “Why don’t you go try out for the dog show instead? That’s where you belong, bitch.”
I choke back an incredulous laugh. Devlin doesn’t want me, period. This whole thing is an exercise in making me jump as high as fucking possible for his game.
“If Devlin only does hookups, I guess that means you don’t have a chance to be his girlfriend, either. Better go gold digging somewhere else.”
The girl’s eyes go wide with outrage, and she stomps off to lick the wound caused by the truth amongst her friends. They all shoot me nasty looks.
Whatever. They’re the ones fighting over a guy that doesn’t even notice they exist.
The other team arrives for the practice match against Silver Lake High. A few of them spot me on the sidelines. They smirk and smack each other. One brave one heads for my end of the field to warm up, flexing his biceps to stretch the yellow jersey. There’s a dark blue #11 on his chest.
He waves to me.
I lift my eyebrows, unaffected.
Devlin appears behind the guy, a whole head taller. The expression on his face isn’t any different from his mask, but I see a deadly fury in the tense set of his chiseled jaw and the tight corners of his eyes.
He mutters something to Eleven. Whatever he says, it makes the guy stalk off to his team’s end of the field to finish his warm up. Devlin remains where Eleven set up, dribbling the ball with some fancy footwork.
Devlin glances my way, sticking his tongue between his teeth in a smug grin when he finds my attention on him.
Showoff.
Once the practice match begins, it’s time for me to cheer. I’ve never gone to a game and I make a point of avoiding the cheerleaders in school.
When Devlin runs by with the ball, I clap and give a sad, “Woo!”
Devlin catches my eye a few minutes later. His unimpressed expression says it all: do better.
Sighing, I raise my efforts.
When Bishop faces off against two offensive players from the other team and steals the ball from them, I cup my hands around my mouth to cheer him on. Bishop points to me, grinning as he weaves the ball between his feet to keep his possession.
The game moves fast. One minute the ball is down near our goal keeper, then in the next Bishop and Devlin are moving in formation with the rest of the team. It’s kind of fascinating to watch. They’re quick, strategic, and damn good at moving the ball.
Bishop and Devlin are a force to be reckoned with, both on their own and when they attack together.
The ball passes in a blur from player to player on our team. I find myself cheering with more heart.
“Come on guys!”
I shuffle down the sidelines, closer to the group of girls who haven’t shut up since the first whistle. They’re better at this than I am. I listen to what they’re saying for ideas, but all they’ve got is endless girlish squealing when Devlin has the ball.