a group of cheerleaders huddled in a makeshift circle, Mariabella front and center. Her brows are scrunched together as she stares at something over my shoulder.
“He’s looking right at us,” another girl exclaims with a nervous giggle. I think she introduced herself as Brianna.
Are they talking about Cassian? Or Lucas?
I pivot on my heel, following Mariabella’s line of sight, until I see Elias Briggs leaning languidly against the waist-high fence separating the field from the bleachers. He leans forward on bent elbows, and the cheerleaders are right. His eyes are fixed intently on our group. Or more specifically, on me.
“He’s so cute,” someone giggles, and I have the irrational urge to remind them that Elias is not cute but a predator in seductive clothing. The steadily setting sun is still bright enough for me to see the streaks of purple in his brown hair, flying around his chiseled face. Thick, curled lashes frame those violet-tinted brown eyes and give him an almost innocent appearance. But Lucifer was beautiful, even when he fell, wasn’t he?
He’s close enough that if I were to take five steps, I would be able to reach up and run the tips of my fingers over his hands.
But instead of giving in to that horrific desire, I ball my hands into fists and focus on Helen, who, as if hearing my mental plea, calls for the girls to circle her.
“Mariabella, I want you to take the lead this game,” she begins, and my friend positively beams as if she’s been offered an award constructed of pure gold. “Girls, Mariabella will start all the cheers and will be in the center of the formation. If you forget any of the movements, follow her.”
Everyone nods in understanding before Helen turns towards me.
“And, Peony, since you don’t know all the cheers yet, I’m going to have you sitting out the first half of the game. Just to watch and get an idea of what to expect. I’ll consider putting you in the second half if you feel up to it.”
I nod once to show her I’m not offended or upset. Despite working with the team for about a week, I still struggle with remembering a lot of the cheer moves. And besides, I’m not sure I brought enough flexibility potion to last the entire game.
I move to sit on the sidelines, resting my back against the wall that houses the raised bleachers. From this angle, I can’t see anyone in the stands, and hopefully, they can’t see me. I can, however, see the football team race out of the locker room, to the whoops and cheers of the adoring fans. They proceed to do pre-game warmups while the cheerleaders talk amongst themselves and work on some tosses and lifts. When seven rolls around, I’m actually excited for the game to begin. I’m not the biggest fan of football, but there’s something infectious about the screams from both sides of the stadium.
And of course, there’s Karsyn.
I try not to admire the way his broad muscles fill out the tight jersey and knee-high pants. I know that football players wear tighter than normal clothing to keep their opponents from pulling at it, but damn. Karsyn looks like a Greek god plucked straight from history. With his helmet off and blond hair askew, he’s breathtaking.
Emmett materializes next to Karsyn and flashes me a cheeky wink. He then sticks out his tongue and pantomimes licking an…ice cream cone. Let’s go with that. The crude gesture causes goosebumps to pebble on my skin as I roll my eyes at the sheer ridiculousness of it. Karsyn whips his head in Emmett’s direction, face scrunched in confusion, before he follows the other man’s eyes to me. Then his gaze darkens considerably, and he offers me a menacing scowl before slamming his helmet over his head.
Emmett rolls his eyes at his teammate’s antics, tossing me another wink, before he shoves his own helmet on and jogs towards the coach and the rest of his teammates.
And then the game begins.
When I say Karsyn is good, that would be the understatement of the damn century. He’s not just good. He’s fucking phenomenal. He plays football the way I play the violin—like each play is a separate note that has to be plucked. The anger from his eyes diminishes as he gets sucked into the void of the game, losing himself to each play.
By only the second quarter, our team is up thirty-five to zero.