[18+] ENEMIES TO LOVERS SPORTS ROMANCE.
*REWRITTEN*
°•°•°•°
Hannah Walker doesn't trust anyone, especially men.
They're manipulative and toxic - her lousy ex taught her that lesson well.
Enter Tristan Beckett, the embodiment of everything she despis...
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Hannah
"Hey, Tristan."
Skylar motioned to the seat next to her, red lips grinning hopefully as she looked up at him. But instead of joining her, he went for the seat next to mine — the one my bag was on. He pulled the chair out, grabbed my bag, and stashed both of our bags on another chair before sitting down.
Right next to me.
A subtle tension hung in the air as Skylar's lips pursed, her gaze darting between Tristan and me. Cassandra cleared her throat at the awkward atmosphere. I wrestled with my own emotions, forcefully suppressing the annoying spark of satisfaction that dared to race through my heart.
My body stiffened as his chair pivoted slightly toward me, our knees brushing against each other. I half-expected him to shift away, to put a stop to the contact, but he didn't. I frowned at the sight of our knees touching. If he wasn't going to pull away, then I should, right?
I didn't.
"How are we doing today, ladies?" Tristan drawled as he casually slung an arm over the back of my chair.
I eyed his arm, but then I remembered I'd been much closer to him than this. "Oh, good. You're here. Skylar was worried about you." Giving her a meaningful look, I left it to her to continue the conversation.
While she took over, my fingers sought out the flash drive nestled within the zipper pocket of my hoodie, deliberately brushing aside his actions and tuning out the ongoing conversation between him and the girls.
An unexpected jolt surged through me as my upper back brushed against the warmth of his forearm, that small touch sending a shiver down my back. I shifted my position ever so slightly to the right, resulting in the heel of his thumb resting against my shoulder. Before I could lean forward, his thumb stirred to life, tracing a gentle circle against the fabric of my hoodie.
Caught off guard, I sucked in a sharp breath, my startled gaze darting in his direction, but he was preoccupied with listening to Skylar. She recounted her week, something about basketball, and other details that I failed to catch.
As her words faded into the background, the world narrowed to that single point of contact — to the soft, rhythmic sweep of his thumb across my shoulder. He was doing it on purpose, but why? Was he trying to irritate me again?
"Are you nervous for the game tomorrow?" Skylar's question broke my trance, and I looked up to see her resting her chin on her palm and beaming up at Tristan.
Game? Tomorrow? Football, I recalled. His thumb's movements came to a halt, nearly burning a hole through the fabric of my clothing.
He shrugged, eyes becoming hooded as he threaded his fingers through his wavy hair. "Nah, we've got this in the bag. We always do."
