Hatred Breeds Fondness

Chapter 2

Baz-

>>> holy shit did you see that pass?

>>> I can't believe Dev got away with that

>>> definitely should've been carded

>>> Pitch got lucky on that last call. bastard.

>>> I can't believe they're winning

>>> it's the last five minutes????? why tf did Pitch feel the need to get ANOTHER yellow card??

>>> this is ridiculous. I can't believe u guessed it perfectly

My phone buzzes and I smirk as I look at it again.

>>> what could he possibly have to gain from tripping that poor guy???

A lot, I think. I'm still in my kitt and my boots are laced. The locker room air is dense with steam from the showers and the air is heavy with sweat. I grin down at my phone like an absolute moron until Dev shoves me in the direction of the shower. He's been watching me for far too long. I don't blame him, I look like an idiot. The rest of the team is leaving or already gone.

I shove my phone into my duffel and let my face settle. I peel my shirt off and toss it in the bin and take the fastest shower of my life. Then, I'm jogging up the steps to my flat, my hair still dripping onto my shoulders. I pull up my messages and read through the latest.

>>> Pitch played like an animal

>>> srsly wtf the replays are even more vicious in slow-mo

I grin rips across my face and I text back.

<<< You seriously can't of expected him to let Lutton's team win

>>> Lutton's defense is far superior to Watford's

>>> rivalry be damned

>>> I would've loved to see them kick Watford's ass

<<< Their sweeper's never in the right spot, it leaves them open

<<< It's not much of a rivalry when Watford's beaten them for the past six games

>>> Still the goal from the second half was insanely lucky

<<< Lucky? Pitch set DeVon up perfectly

And I did too. There's no way DeVon would've made the shot without me.

>>> that's beside the point

>>> you won the bet :(

>>> I seem to be losing a lot of them these days

A tendril of anticipation curls in my chest. Last night when I opened the picture I sloshed tea all over my carpet. When he bumped into me at the party he was drunk off his arse. He was gorgeous, made entirely of bronze and flecked with moles. Four moles lined a trail down his neck and disappeared under the collar of his jersey. Of my jersey. I wanted to trace the line to his sternum with the flat of my tongue, I wanted to lick the salt from his body until I reached fabric. He was so drunk he didn't even recognize me. His friend certainly did. From his texts it doesn't sound like she's told him. Good, I'd like to see where this goes without my name getting in the way.

He basically fell in my lap last night, tousled hair tacky with sweat and reeking of beer. Then he had the nerve to talk shit about me while wearing my name printed to his shoulder blades and swathed in my colors. I've never been so turned on in my entire life.