3
MICHI
Run. Run away. Now. Do it while he hasn’t seen you yet.
Across the field, a group of players in dark blue jackets walked in dignified swagger. The Blue Tigers. Turning their heads only to examine the players, this group displayed a sense of royalty in their presence. Though they excel in their field, they haven’t been consistent in winning – passing the championship cup every other year to their worst adversary: The Red Dragons. But last year, they didn’t win like they do every other year. The Dragon now has the cup for two years in a row, explaining how they seek blood this year.
Before I could avert my gaze, the person leading them caught my eye and stopped. I took an involuntary step back and hit something hard. Uneasy with the way I locked eyes, I looked up to see that the athlete, Jayson, had followed me. I had bumped on his chest. He was staring at the Tigers with hard eyes.
The Tigers changed direction and headed for us. A moment later, four other red athletes stood on either side of me. The crowd seemed to part as the Tigers headed for us, their leader grinning – his wide teeth glinting like fangs under the light of the sun.
They were only a few meters away when I caught the full profile of their leader. Wavy bronze hair, light brown eyes, fair skin, broad shoulders and six foot five in height. A face they say was carved by Michaelangelo himself. I blinked. Shit. I shouldn’t have done that. With that one blink, everything came back.
Confession. Kiss. Promises. And then the Invitation. Insults. Unshed tears. Pain. Regret.
“Michi!” I froze as a husky baritone voice full of familiarity called my name.
Goodbyes. More insults. And finally, withdrawal and the present. I looked up at Drake. Shameless. Monster. His team was already before us. He eyed me and my company and smirked.
Beside me – Jayson, I think, stepped forward that he were standing right beside me.
“Do you know him?” he asked me.
“Yes,” I said stiffly without looking at either of them.
Drake appraised Jayson and turned to me. He grinned like an idiot.
“My, my, Mikhail! Picking after my trash again, are we?”
Before my hand could react, steel-like fingers laced with mine.
------------------
JAYSON
Perfect. Nothing better than to start a loving brawl against your sworn enemy.
“My my, Mikhail! Picking after my trash again, are we?”
YOU ARE READING
I've Got Your Number
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