Perfect.
Tori’s eyes flicked up when I stepped out, trailing over me. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“Good game,” she praised softly.
Those two little words shouldn’t have sent a rush of excitement through me.
But I’d just spent three and a half hours crashing into grown men at full speed, chasing the high of being useful and wanted on the field. Now, every instinct I had shifted and locked straight onto her.
The way I wanted — needed — her was dangerous and delicious in equal measure.
This girl was mine. I felt it down to my fucking bones — we were meant to be.
I took a slow step toward her, and she … stepped back. Just one small step, a teasing movement paired with a grin taking on a wicked edge.
My pulse went into overdrive, like it had never settled down after the game.
Could she read my fucking mind?
“Tori,” I warned quietly, as if this wasn't exactly what I wanted.
“What?” She taunted me, continuing to walk backward towards the dimly lit stretch of tunnels. “Too worn out to catch me?”
I did a quick scan. Only a couple of student workers were stacking cups near the exit ramp, and a janitor was wheeling a mop bucket in the opposite direction … and none of them were paying us any mind. Playoff game or not, the stadium emptied fast once the clock hit zero.
The tunnels behind her were beckoning me closer, dark and deserted like they were just waiting for us.
She tilted her head. “Well? You coming?”
With slow, methodical movements, I took a couple steps back to open the door of a random storage closet, dumped my bag inside and closed it again.
Then I turned back to face her and my control finally snapped. I lunged, and she squeaked and whirled around, bolting down the hallway with her sneakers tapping out a rapid rhythm against the concrete.
I chased her, laughter bursting out of me — raw, bright and stupidly happy — and echoing through the cavernous hallway.
“Better give up now, Love! I’m coming to claim my prize,” I called.
“Nope!” Her voice bounced off the walls. “Not when you look like that!”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to go feral and eat me alive!”
Fair enough.
I sprinted harder, rounding a corner just in time to see her dart behind a line of stacked Gatorade coolers. The hum of distant generators vibrated faintly on the floor.
Cool, recycled stadium air brushed over my overheated skin, mixing with the faint sweetness of whatever perfume she’d put on hours ago.
God, I wanted herbad.
Tori glanced over her shoulder, saw how close I was, and let out another yelp of laughter as she shot off in the opposite direction.
We tore past storage rooms, equipment closets and a dimly lit doorway leading to the field tunnel. My legs were burning from the game, but the adrenaline pumping through me turned exhaustion into fuel.
“Tori,” I growled, closing in on her. “I swear—”
She cut right, but she underestimated my reflexes. When she slowed for just half a second — perhaps misjudging the distance or tripping over thin air — I grabbed her arm.