Page 88 of Set Play

Gracie’s words fade into background noise as I turn to find Élise standing there, back to me.

Why is she facing the other direction?

I’m about to step towards her when my eyes drop to my duffel bag over one shoulder. My attention doesn’t stay there long enough for me to find that fact odd, because there, emblazoned across her upper back is my name. “M. REYES” in white font with the number 17 just below it. My heart stops.

That’s…my number. And my name. Holy shit, she’s wearing my fucking jersey!

I have no chance in hell against this woman. To be honest, I probably never did. She swept into my life one night in a random bar and completely flipped my world upside down. My feet pull me toward her of their own accord, and I gently grab her waist and spin her around. The minx bites her lip, looking at me through her eyelashes like she knows exactly what I’m thinking.

Hell, she probably does.

Using my thumb, I pull her lip free and then lean into her. “You look so fucking sexy wearing my jersey, Chispita. So fucking mine.” Then I slam my lips down on hers, groaning deep in my throat when she responds with a whimper and wraps her arms around my waist.

She pulls away just enough to murmur, “Take me home, Big Shot.”

With absolute fucking pleasure.

I scoop her up, bridal style, and head toward the player tunnel, distantly aware of her friends whooping behind us. “Big Shot! Put me down, there’s cameras everywhere,” she protests. Despite her demand, she grips me tighter when I start to put her down, making me laugh against the top of her head.

“You sure that’s what you want, Chispita? Because once again your mouth says one thing and your body says another.”

Chapter 50

Élise

Itry not to squirm in Mateo’s arms as he hustles through the hallways of the stadium. He’s clearly eager to get his car, but I don’t think he accounted for the reporters and fans that would be waiting at the team entrance. Still, he’s polite to them all, explaining that he needs to make sure I get home to get the rest I need to fully recover.

All the fans are understanding, some even swoon at his words. The reporters, on the other hand, continue to assault us with questions. Except one. There’s one that’s standing further back with a camera pointed directly at us. “Um, Big Shot. I think that person is recording us.” I tip my head toward them and his muscles tense when he follows the motion.

“Yeah, it looks like you’re right. Come on, let’s get you to my car.”

His steps quicken even more, but his grip stays gentle. When we finally reach his Audi, he slides me into the passenger seat and presses his lips to mine once more. As he pulls back, he whispers, “I can’t wait to strip you of everything but that jersey.” With one last quick brush of his lips to mine, he smirks and shuts the door.

Well, that was rude. Fucking tease.

It doesn’t take long for him to make his way out of the stadium and onto the interstate. My brows draw together in confusion as I look over at him. He shouldn’t have gotten on the interstate to take me home.

“We’re going to my place. And then I’m going to reward you for being such a good girl and wearing my number like I asked you to.”

Oh, hell yes.

Mateo drops his hand onto my thigh, squeezing firmly before leaving it just inches from where I want it. After the kiss on the field and then the way he carried me all the way to his car, I just want him to move his hand up a tiny bit.

Maybe if I could just scoot down in the seat.

His hand tightens, stopping my movement and I cross my arms, pouting as I stare out the window.

The longer we drive without him so much as twitching a finger, the more heated my skin feels. I can see that stupid smirk on his face in my periphery; he knows what he’s doing to me. Bâtard.

“Please tell me we’re almost there!” I blurt out after another few agonizing minutes of his silence.

His deep laugh rumbles through the car, somehow sexier than a laugh has any right to be. “Patience, Chispita. We’re about five minutes away.”

A whine lodges itself at the base of my throat. Instead of releasing it and giving him the satisfaction of knowing how affected I am, I huff out a breath. My patience is flimsy on a good day, unless I’m at work, but he is really testing my limits. At this point, I’ll jump him as soon as he stops the car.

Is it a sexual or attack kind of jumping? To be determined.

Resigned to his torture for about the next five minutes, I stare out the window and try to keep my mind on literally anything else. My brain flits from cooking shows and books to medications and their more common side effects.