OBSESSED Series

Chapter 10

My instinct is to say no. I may have grown up sheltered, but I’m not stupid. It’s easy to see Krissy doesn’t have my best interest in mind. But if I’m going to be around these girls a lot, if I’m going to fit in and not be a social outcast, I have to try a little. Make an effort. And maybe…maybe there is a part of me that wants the help. No one has ever aided me in picking out clothes or putting on makeup or styling my hair. I grew up without a mother. What I had was a distracted guardian—and I was grateful for her. But now? My lack of polish is so glaring compared to these girls. Not to mention, people are going to compare me to Gage. They’re going to wonder what the hell he’s doing with a girl who barely brushes her hair and wears clothes meant for a man. Maybe a little makeover wouldn’t kill me?

I swallow hard and slide toward Krissy on the metal bench. “Okay…”

“Damn. Who is the hot girl in the stands?”

“Haven’t seen her before. Fuck. Those legs are begging to be clamped around my head.”

They shove each other. “After me, bro.”

I don’t even glance up from the playbook. This is normal bullshit from my teammates. They’re always going on and on about women, their bodies. I don’t have the heart to break it to them that all of their groupies look the same. They can’t hold a candle to my Stella. Jesus, I want her. I want her so bad, but I’ve got another half hour of practice until she takes me to her secret place. I’m dying to see it. Dying to know everything about her—

“Oh shit, dude. That’s Weston’s girl.”

“What?” He sounds nervous. “No…she…that’s not how she looked earlier.”

My chin snaps up, something sharp and ugly winding down my throat and wrapping around my vocal cords. Weston’s girl. Stella. They’re talking about my Stella? I didn’t even have to say a word when I stepped on the field. It went unspoken that she is off fucking limits. So why are they talking about her? I’m going to break the neck of whoever spoke about her legs out loud.

A roar is building in my chest when I finally spot her—and everything goes silent around me, as if all signs of life have been sucked out of the air. When the noise returns, I’m midway through that bellow. I’ve ripped the helmet off my head and thrown it at the water table, knocking over rows of green paper Gatorade cups.

Stella is watching me approach, wide eyed and shell shocked, but I can’t calm myself down to reassure her. “Who did this?”

I jump the fence separating the field and the stands, my cleats loud on the stairway leading up. Up to her. Where she waits with her skirt rolled up, her flat belly exposed, hair twisted up on top of her head, lips fire-engine red. I’m getting hard even though I hate what they’ve done to her. There’s no way to stop my cock from reacting to so much of her skin being exposed, because it’s too succulent, too sweet, too mine. Mine.

Sweet Jesus, those tits.

Whoever did this has taken her out of the giant, button-down shirt, where I preferred her, and left her in an undershirt that they’ve knotted beneath her breasts. Despite how pissed off I must look, I watch her little nipples bead under the thin material and my balls swell out of my protective cup. Shit. Shit. I’m drawing so much attention to her right now and I shouldn’t be. My teammates are already taking notice of how absolutely gone I am for Stella. These are the most competitive men in the world. They always want the best. They’re always trying to win it for themselves. Not this time.

Not happening.

I have to find a way to fend them off.

She’s only for me. She’s mine to keep.

When I reach Stella, I pull her up against me, looking down into her face. Goddammit, she was already so fucking beautiful, I could barely stand it. But they’ve made her hot and sexy on top of it. Now I’m insane. I’m going insane. “Give me back her clothes,” I growl, roughly unrolling her skirt, hiding her lithe thighs as quickly as possible. “Who did this to her? She was already perfect. Who did this?”