He tips my head toward his with his index finger, keeping my eyes trained on him and driving me crazy with the primal look on his face.
His grey eyes look heavy, filled with dark desire, and a shock runs up through my core. Everything around us disa...
I'm finishing off the last of my Clif bar when a message pops up on my car's screen. Connected to my phone, my car's screen dings with a text message from Violet that immediately catches my eye.
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My mind starts racing, rifling through all the worst possibilities. A kid probably got hurt and is bleeding out as I drive leisurely to the field. What if Peyton's hurt and she needs me to cart her ass to the hospital? I try to calm myself down as I speed down the street, counting down the seconds until I pull into the parking lot.
Whipping into my space, I scan my surroundings for Violet, Peyton, or any sign of panic. The kids for our practice haven't even arrived yet and everyone seems to be casually walking or talking around field, which makes me feel a bit better. There doesn't seem to be any urgent problem.
I'm going to kill Violet. I ran several stop signs on the way here and my driving record is not something I take lightly. My mind starts racing again, but only to conjure up ways to chew Violet's ass out for worrying me like she had.
Then I see it. Or him, more exactly.
At first, it just seems like Violet and Peyton calmly talking to a parent - the parent's back facing toward me. A very tall, muscular parent. But his dark hair, curling slightly at its overgrown edges, look oddly familiar. And the closed-off way his corded arms seem to be crossed over his broad chest.
No fucking way.
I park in my usual spot and rush to take out my bag from the passenger seat. Of course, the bag's strap gets caught in my door and I spend a few aggravating seconds urging it out. After slinging it over my shoulder, I feel my face already heating up. Just knowing he's in the same vicinity as me does something to me.
Of course, this is the exact moment my brain decides to remind me of the details of last night's dream. If my face wasn't red before, it is now.
I speed toward the spot in the middle of the field where the happy trio are chatting about God-knows-what.
My confidence slowly dwindles as I get closer and closer and his broad frame comes into better focus. All my snarky comments are little more than an afterthought by the time I join the circle, replaced by confusing feelings too similar to the ones I felt this morning. What's wrong with me?
Grayson notices the sudden relief on Violet and Peyton's faces as I approach and he turns just as I slide right beside him, careful not to get caught in his intense gaze.
"Sooo," I drawl, "what's going on here?"
The silence sits for a few uncomfortable seconds before Violet chimes in with an unusually high voice. "Nothing! Nothing at all, Riv. Grayson," she widens her eyes, "was just telling us about how much his little sister loves soccer. Peyton and I think that she has to be the cutest little girl we've ever seen."
