with only a glance. It wasn’t even the lush, red lips made for sucking—and being sucked. It was the essence of her: pure, luscious seduction.
Her hands danced through the air as she spoke to Harlow, her chest heaving. A succulent chest covered by a too-tight T-shirt that read “Goal Scout Deliveries Free Today Only.” Her jeans appeared painted on, and the cowgirl boots she wore had enough rhinestones to outshine the sun.
She stole his breath.
Jase came up beside him and hammered his shoulder with enough strength to crush an ordinary man. “Now you know. Brook Lynn sent Jessie Kay in her place. I’d hoped we’d beat her here, and you’d never know she’d come. Sorry.”
Well. The guy’s he-fit after reading Brook Lynn’s text suddenly made more sense.
Beck stalked past them, an arrow with a target. As always, he devolved into an intense, possessive manimal whenever his fianceé was near, casting a warning glare at every man in her vicinity, all mine, I’ll kill before I’ll share.
Harlow squealed, happy to see him. Jessie Kay stiffened and slooowly turned toward the door, as if she needed a moment to prepare herself for a coming blow. Her gaze linked with West’s and...just like that, the rest of the world ceased to exist. Desire burned through him, even vibrated in his bones. The air between them thickened, suddenly supercharged with enough electricity to bring down a rhino. Breathing was far more difficult—when the ability at last returned.
How did she do this to him? How did she ensnare him so easily? And with only a look?
A drug. She’s a drug.
She had to be. Only cocaine had the same effect on him.
At the moment, he didn’t exactly care what she was. Devolving...
Mine. Want.
A group of people spilled through the entrance, and someone knocked into him. As West stumbled, managing to catch himself before a fall, the...whatever he had going with Jessie Kay ended, broken abruptly.
Anger replaced his fascination, and he growled a curse at the person responsible. A curse he then turned on himself.
“Sorry, sorry,” the guy called as he continued forward.
West returned his attention to Jessie Kay, unable to stop himself, hating himself, but she’d reached the front of the line and now worked her black magic on the pimply-faced teenager behind the counter.
Grinding his molars, West strode to the locker room to store his bag.
“—see the blonde?” some guy was saying. The guy who’d plowed into him, in fact. Without a coat to block the view, West was able to see the black-and-crimson shirt proudly boasting “Ball Buster” on back.
“The one in the cowboy boots? Dude. How could I miss her?” another member of BBs responded. “Those tits were spectacular.”
A command to move never registered, but suddenly West was across the room, the guy’s neck in his hand. He seethed with fury and aggression, his words lashing like a whip. “You’re an asshole.” He slammed the guy into the bank of lockers. “You don’t talk about her like that. Ever.”
Hazel eyes bugged out and air wheezed from a throat close to closing up shop.
“He’s sorry, man. We’re sorry,” the friend rushed out. “We didn’t know she was yours. Let him go, okay?”
“Let him go,” Jase echoed, now at West’s side. “Ending the life of a fool isn’t on your schedule.”
He was panting, West realized, as if he’d just run a ball up and down the field for several hours. Any second, he would snap, and there would be no stopping him until it was too late.
Can’t let that happen. Not around Jase.
West gave a final squeeze before unlocking his fingers and stepping back. The offenders raced out the door, practically leaving skid marks in their wake. Predatory instincts surfaced, the urge to give chase almost too strong to ignore.
“I know you want Jessie Kay,” Jase said softly. “I know you wish you didn’t. You need to go out with her or forget her, because you can’t go on like this. I see that now.”
He saw it, too, but he couldn’t go out with her and there was no way he could forget her.
Still he said, “I’ll clean up, dry out.” Recovery terms. One hundred percent accurate in this case. “You have my word.”
This behavior wasn’t good for him, and it certainly wasn’t like him. He was the one who thought everything through, who planned the beginning from the end before ever acting. But it was her, Jessie Kay; she was to blame for his uncustomary outburst. Months of looking at her, sparring with her and fantasizing about her without ever actually touching her had finally destroyed the calm outer shell he’d cultivated while living with his mom.
He remembered the day he’d learned it was better to hide his emotions than share them. He’d made the egregious mistake of telling his mom about Sam, and she’d cried for days, shooting up more than usual until finally overdosing. At five years old, he’d tried to give her CPR. He’d seen people on TV do it—the wrong way, it turned out. When he’d failed to revive her, he’d banged on his neighbor’s door, begging for help.
He’d helped all right. By calling 911 and social services. West was taken away for the very first time.
“We can’t afford trouble with the law,” Jase reminded him. “Especially this kind of trouble.”
“I know. Don’t worry about me. Seriously.” West’s hands curled into fists. “I’m just jacked on adrenaline because of the game.”
Disbelief shadowed Jase’s features, but he said, “Maybe you should take a breather and sit out the first half.”
“I’d rather eat nails. The field is the only place I can legally kick ass.”
“Just make sure the asses you kick don’t have to be carried away on stretchers.”
Those tits were spectacular.
West laughed without humor. “I can’t make any promises.”
JESSIE KAY SAT in the bleachers, embarrassingly awed. West was a warrior of old and the arena was his battlefield, his body his weapon. And what a weapon it was.
He owned the ball. When someone else had it, he took it. When he had it and someone tried to steal it, he knocked that someone into a wall with a full-on slam. He threw insults, elbows and knees like they were confetti.
Tomorrow, the members of Team Ball Buster would feel as if they’d tangled with an F5 tornado and lost, guaran-dang-teed.
It—was—hawt. West was hawt.
Jessie Kay’s gaze remained glued to him. Sweat glistened on his bronzed skin, and blood trickled from several cuts he’d sustained. The injuries only made him sexier. She wanted
