19

Ryan

Not An Art Project

In her path towards the exit, I snagged one of the straps of her backpack and pulled her towards me. She didn't snarl, Kassie just glanced back with a frown, those lips pressed together with that distracting lipstick.

I brought her out of the locker room to the tunnel archway. It offered a perfect view of the field.

"You've met Adam."

Kassie took her place next to me, inches away. She sighed. "That's the one you're mad at."

"Yeah, Adam Russell."

"The Marrs Manwhore."

I made a noise at the back of my throat. Even if he deserved every ounce of that nickname, I couldn't let it slide behind his back.

"Sorry." Kassie crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head, getting a good look at our group. "There are more people than I thought there'd be. I thought you had twenty on a field?"

"Eleven per team when we're in a game. But we've got, I think, a hundred and three right now signed on—there's been some drop-offs. We switch out during the week for practices. There's around sixty on the field right now."

"Huh."

"Yeah."

"The blonde guy? Miles? He's Cleo's…?"

"Fiancé."

"And the guy with the tattoos?"

She might as well have asked about half of the football team. "Which one?"

"The one closest to us. The one with the scars?"

My eyes instantly flickered to King, obviously trying to check in on the situation. It made sense that was how Kassie picked him out of the crowd. After all, the field was full of football players. Plenty of tattoos. But I'd been pretty clear to my team about the rules. No one was allowed to ask about the jagged scars on King's face. Anyone who wanted to press their luck with questions had to answer to me, personally.

I rubbed my jaw. "That's King."

A pause followed, and I thought she'd point out that King's jersey was the one she'd bought. Instead, she raised an eyebrow. "You guys have nicknames? You're Four-A-Cross, right?"

She must've seen the Four-A-Cross jersey for sale too.

And she didn't buy that one?

"No, that's the game chant for me. King is his last name." Something in my voice must've stopped the line of questions about him because Kassie fell silent. It was a small thing, but it wasn't my story to tell, and King didn't like to tell it anyway.

Finally, she nodded. "And that's June. King's girlfriend."

King's fake girlfriend .

"Yeah." I nodded. "Check your schedule, we're going to her barbecue after Saturday's game. And the football girlfriends are pretty easy to distinguish. They wear jerseys."

"Mm."

"Did you catch that?"

"Sure did, ball dribbler."

I waited for her to budge. I really did. But she didn't move fast enough. I snagged her backpack again, dragging her back toward the locker room, and all the way to the end, to the last locker on the right.

"You can't keep yanking me places—"

"This is my locker." I swung open the door. "This is my jersey. Do you understand?"

"Why is it so empty?"

I frowned. "It's a locker. For football. It's not an art project."

"Wow." Kassie whistled and inspected the inside, taking a long look at the spotless shelves and the clean clothes, either folded or hung up in the order they were supposed to be. "This is so sad. It's like an orphan's belongings."

She slipped off her backpack and stuffed it on an empty shelf.

I frowned. "What are you doing?"

"Stashing contraband."

She dusted her hands off and I reached up to remove the bag from my damn locker, but she smiled at me. Not a nice, ‘hey, thanks for doing something for me' smile, but a self-satisfied smile.

I wrapped my hand around the door of the locker instead. "Pick a jersey then."

"See? That's how this is supposed to work."

She ignored the folded ones at the bottom and tugged at one, hung up. It took her a couple of seconds to bunch it at the bottom —she was a whole head shorter than me and so much smaller. So much softer.

Well, her body was softer anyway.

My big objective was finally done, I could leave the locker room, apologize to Coach Lawson, and get everybody on the right track. But I couldn't tear my eyes away. I'd thrown on those jerseys hundreds of times.

Why is it so different when she wears one?

The bookstore, off-campus, at the games, I saw them everywhere and I'd never really thought about it before.

I kept silent while she twisted it to show me.

It looked good on her. My last name on her looked really good.

"This is called compromise," Kassie continued, "and I know that might be a new concept to you—"

"Brand new concept."

"It's one you got to get used to."

The team was going hard outside, and I had to get back to training, but not without something clearly established.

I ducked down low, only a few inches between the two of us.

She wasn't expecting the close contact. I could see it in her eyes, the flutter of her eyelashes, the catch in her breath. But she didn't move away from me either. It was like those twenty seconds before a whistle blows and the game begins. Adrenaline—I could taste it at the back of my throat, but something more. Anticipation hung heavy in the air.

"Kassie?"

"Yes?"

"You're going to wear this jersey."

"Am I?"

"Yes," I confirmed. "This one and nobody else's."

She raised an eyebrow. "Or what?"

"If you wear anybody else's, I'm going to rip it off your body."

I meant it as a side comment. Something that I believed, but a throwaway line. I waited for Kassie to come back with a reply. Maybe something about how I couldn't wrap a leash around her. Instead, a blush spilled across her cheeks, making me think back over the words, chewing them over.

Ripping clothing off Kassie …

It was damn early in the morning but apparently, it wasn't too early for all the blood to drain out of my head.

My cock fucking ached .

What about focusing on the Birchwood Conference did I not fucking understand? I left the locker room and made my way back to practice. But I couldn't help my fingers squeezing into a fist when I thought of her wearing somebody else's name.

It didn't matter because Kassandra Ragar was nothing more than my fake girlfriend.

But the rest of the world didn't need to know that.

"King." I motioned him over and the two of us made a quick walk to Coach Lawson. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Kassie taking her time to the bleachers, and all the girls waving, ready to welcome her in. "I need you to put the word out on something."

He grunted, showing that he heard me.

"I want an off-limits tag."

His silence was as loud as a fire alarm.

"Do you know what that is?" I asked.

King gave me a slow look. Crammed with every question he wanted to ask and all the ones he didn't dare to. "Yes."

"Good. I want one on Kassie."

His eyebrows raised.

"I'm fine," I answered his unsaid question. "Never been better."

He paused. "Alright, captain."

"Have everybody hear about it, inside and outside of football. If I see any man on campus touching her, they'll have to deal with me. They'll regret it."

Rolling back my shoulders, I cracked my neck. It was time to get to work.