My whole body is shivering and uncomfortable from my clothes, but underneath it all a buzzing has awakened from deep within me.
This battle of wills is far more dangerous than I thought. I need to be careful so I can figure out how to skirt Devlin’s arbitrary rules that give him full control.
He’s got another thing coming if he believes I’ll hand him power over my body, too.
Fourteen
Devlin
As impossible to ignore as ever, Blair remains stuck in my head for days like the stubborn thorns of a rose.
She invades my school, my house, and my thoughts.
In the boy’s locker room, surrounded by the other guys on the team, I slouch on the wooden bench. My soccer uniform is half on, my jersey slung over one shoulder and my cleats beside me.
It’s a game night, but my head couldn’t be further from focused. My aunt and uncle are out by the field to watch before we go out for dinner.
Across from me, Bishop seems to be in the same boat for once. He shoves his backpack in his locker and sits on the bench with his blazer off, shirt unbuttoned, and tie half undone and forgotten.
My brow furrows for a second before I smooth it. Bishop is usually the first one ready before a match so he can prowl the aisles of the locker room as we change, bombarding us with reminders about our opponents. He rarely misses an opportunity to give a pep talk, but tonight his head isn’t in the game.
Bishop never shuts up about soccer, the one thing he lives and breathes, so something is definitely up with him.
Instead of preparing for our match, he’s absorbed in his phone again.
Glancing around to make sure Trent and Sean have left to grab the ball bag, I brace my elbows on my knees.
“What’s up, man? Is it more stuff with your parents?”
Bishop’s eyes dart up to meet mine. “What?” He blinks. “No, no. It’s—Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.”
Before he hides his phone, I catch a glimpse of the girl on the screen, a little hottie from the looks of it, with her chunky sweater pulled up to expose her stomach and hint at full tits peeking from beneath. I snort, shaking my head. Bishop’s this twisted up over some chick?
I was worried for nothing.
“I see.” Chuckling, I hit Bishop’s knee with a playful tap. He smirks, tucking his phone away. When he meets my gaze again, he’s my soccer-obsessed best friend. “There he is.”
“Let’s crush these guys. They won’t see us coming.”
I bump my fist against his when he holds it up.
The varsity soccer team might be less flashy than our football team, but between Bishop and I, we’re a force to be reckoned with. We’re both calculative players. Our unyielding two-man attack razes our opponents every time when Bishop picks up the ball from the defensive line and moves into attack plays alongside my offense position.
I pull the jersey over my head, running a hand down the #6 on my chest. The soccer field is where I cultivated my nickname as the devil. Bishop always jokes that as a striker, my assigned number should be #9, but I insisted on playing as #6 once my reputation as the dark devil spawned and grew.
Bishop puts on his #10 jersey and stands before me. “You coming?”
“Right behind you.”
“Two minutes.” Bishop taps his wrist.
I wave him off as he jogs around the locker room to round up our teammates.
The echo of slamming lockers and the chatter of the other guys travels through the room.
Closing my eyes, I picture the girl on Bishop’s phone, but her luscious curves automatically change to pale skin, petite tits, and a cascade of shiny black hair. My dick twitches with interest.
It bothers me that I felt nothing looking at that photo Bishop had. Sure, it was quick, but long enough to make out the gist of the sexy photo. No rush of heat to my groin.