Rich Prick – Tijan Page 0,64

and I thought he might have realized that.

He brought out a soccer ball later, his head cocked to the side. “Yeah?”

It’d been a while since I played.

I wanted to. Instantly. The feel of kicking it, moving it forward, moving it with me, running alongside it as if it were a part of me—that all came back to me in an instant.

I wasn’t known for soccer here. I was enjoying that. It was a break from another thing that came with New York. The pressure. The extra attention.

I got attention here, but it wasn’t like anything I got in New York.

I was enjoying that, and Aspen. I glanced over. I hadn’t talked to her about soccer yet. She had no clue, and right now, I kinda liked the confusion there. But damn. Zeke knew what he was doing when he brought that out. Just seeing it in his hands and I wanted to rip it from him, herd it, keep it to me, and that feel of running the length of the field, kicking it in, almost nothing was better. Well, sex was, but I was really missing the feel of scoring a goal especially when it was after a tough battle.

Zeke couldn’t compete with me. If I gave in—fuck. Who was I kidding?

“Give it to me.”

His grin turned cocky. “Come get it from me.”

There was a section of grass on the other side of Aspen’s dad’s man-shed.

Zeke led the way, swaggering over there like he could hold his own against me. He knew I played. He knew how well I played, but I was thinking that he had forgotten.

He was about to be reminded.

He turned, dropping the ball with his hands going to his hips. He was going to say something, maybe lay out some rules, but I was already there.

One touch and I pulled the ball from him.

“Hey!”

His legs closed. He thought I was going to kick between them, but I didn’t. I merely reached out, my toe on top of the ball, and I tugged it to me. That’s right. It was mine, not his, and I flashed him a grin, knowing he’d pick up on my sentiment.

He scowled. “Not fair.”

I laughed, starting to run with the ball. “If you think I’m playing with a handicap against you, no fucking way.” I urged it farther down the grass, nudging it with the side of my foot. The inside. The outside. I bounced it back with my heel, stopping, rotating, jumping around it, and when Zeke got closer, I flipped it in the air, my knee bouncing it beyond him.

I was toying with him.

He knew it. I knew it. I caught his grin. He was loving this too.

My legs were tingling. There was a pull in my gut. My foot was aching, needing more and more. Harder. Faster.

I played with Zeke, easy keep-away game until the ache was too much for me to ignore. The grass wasn’t long enough. There was space on the side of Aspen’s house and kicking the ball farther, I pushed off. I left Zeke in my trail, handling the ball between myself. I moved it up and around, jumping, spinning. I stopped it, the back of my heels imprisoning it and I flipped it up and over to the front of me. I loved doing that. I caught it in the crook of my calf and knee, then tossing it to the grass and moving it forward once more.

Jesus.

I got lost, playing, pushing myself.

Challenging myself.

I forgot time.

This was how it was with soccer. I needed a worthy adversary. I needed to let out my pent-up tension. I needed to be forced away from it. I needed to go back in, stealing it, knowing that victory. Relishing that victory.

I was salivating all over again.

Yeah. I was ready for soccer to come back. Only another month and I’d have to start training, then another month after that and I’d be on the field again. I couldn’t wait.

I stopped, sweat pouring down me, and a burst of applause came from the sidelines.

Aspen and Zeke were both there.

Zeke was wearing that knowing smug look. Aspen’s eyes were big, dazed, and her lips had parted. I recognized the look. I was feeling it too, and there was a whole other urge I had to fight off because I really wanted to grab her, tell Zeke to piss off, and drag my girl upstairs.

“Long time coming, man.”

I grunted, reaching out and Zeke hit his fist to mine.

Yeah. Long time coming.

“I