Page 80 of Tripped Up

My hands shake as I pull off Mitch’s jersey. I’m wearing a long-sleeved shirt underneath as I crumple the New Orleans jersey into my bag.

Hands on my hips, I glare at Wyatt. “Happy now?” I demand.

He leans over the gate, tossing his jersey over the glass. I snatch it out of the air before anyone else can get to it.

“Put it on, Elsy,” he shouts. “Show everyone who you belong to.”

Fuck. Everything in me liquefies as I pull on his sweaty jersey. Bringing the collar to my nose, I inhale his scent, his soap and sweat and musk combining to make me throb.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his eyes locked on mine. “Not his.”

I shake my head. “Not his. Only yours.”

He looks me over, a satisfied smirk on his lips. “Don’t forget that.”

I won’t. Not anytime soon.

Jabari, the trainer, thrusts a new jersey into Wyatt’s arms. I can’t hear what he says, but it’s probably something like get dressed and stop making an ass out of yourself, because Wyatt pulls it over his head.

His teammates are laughing, and I spot Henry waving up at me, a smirk on his face. Mitch is on the other side of the ice, shaking his head and smiling. The crowd doesn’t know how to react.

And fuck, neither do I. I didn’t think I’d like the caveman possessive thing, but I can’t deny it was hot as fuck.

Now I have to figure out a way to recreate that in the bedroom. If my boyfriend doesn’t fuck me soon, I’m going to spontaneously combust.

twenty-eight

Wyatt

“You’re such an asshole,” Mitchell says to me as we find our seats at the pub. Henry and Puppy are beside him, arguing over who played the better game tonight.

It was me. I played the best game of my life. I didn’t score any goals, but I laid some fantastic hits—including on this schmuck.

“Not denying it.” I can’t help my smug smile as I help Elsy into her chair, then take my own beside her, my arm draped around her shoulders.

“You just had to make a scene,” he continues, shaking his head mockingly. “Such an attention whore.”

“Hey, it worked. She won’t be wearing your name again.”

Elsy rolls her eyes. “Yes, yes, I’m yours and now everyone knows it. Thanks for that.”

I squeeze her arm. “Well, I didn’t think yelling out I love you in front of fifty thousand people was very romantic.”

Her jaw drops.

“Fuck.” I wasn’t supposed to say that. I definitely wasn’t supposed to blurt it out with absolutely no finesse.

“You lo-love me?” Her eyes go wide and glassy, like she’s trying not to cry.

Mitchell laughs. Loudly.

Fucker. I want to flip him off. It takes everything in me not to.

Turning to her, I take her hands in mine, my eyes locked on hers.

“I probably should have said that better,” I admit.

“Say it again,” she demands. “I need to hear it. For real.”