I reach up to wrap my hands around his wrists as they hold us in place. “I love you too.”
Our eyes lock, transmitting all the love and lust we feel for each other.
“Isn’t this sweet?”
This time, the voice we hear is a sneer, not a tease, and it comes from my right, not my left—not King. It is familiar, though, and unwelcome…a voice that spells trouble.
Instinctively, I tighten both my arms and legs around Mase in an attempt to keep him in place.
“Parker.” Mason’s voice is venomous.
Nothing good can come from this—nothing.
I know how Liam thinks. This isn’t some chance encounter. He wasn’t getting the reaction he wanted on social media or from sending Chrissy/Tina to my dorm, so he purposely came looking for us to start something. Maybe he thinks he can draw Mase into a fight and get him benched for the game; I don’t know.
Behind me, footsteps rush in our direction, but I don’t dare take my eyes off Liam to check if it’s King. The former is coiled tight like a snake, waiting to strike.
“You know, Parker…” King tuts, cool as a cucumber, ready to face down a challenge like this is your typical Saturday night. Who knows, with his reputation, it might be. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him round Mase and move so he’s positioned between us and Liam. “I would have thought you’d know better than to mess with one of my people.” King shakes his head like a disappointed parent. “Guess you took one too many hits to the head on the football field.”
Liam scoffs, his face twisting, thrusting an arm out to point at me aggressively. That’s a mistake. “She’s not Royalty.” That’s another mistake.
A sense of foreboding like someone walking across my grave washes over me as Liam’s head tilts to the left in consideration.
“TRAVIS!” I shout as loud as I possibly can, my lungs screaming with the effort, my vocal cords vibrating like razor wire. I pray he can hear me over the noise inside the locker room.
Mase’s grip on my butt turns punishing as my yell brings Liam’s attention onto me.
The red doors to the locker room push open with a, “What’s with the full na—” Trav’s words cut off as the clack of his cleats comes to a stop.
Using every ounce of strength in my thighs, I rise to see over the curve of Mase’s shoulder pads and meet Trav’s worried gaze as he stands with the door propped open with a foot. “Get. The. Guys.”
A hawk cry rips through the air, bringing what looks like most of the Hawks’ roster to the door. Why do I feel like it’s not going to be enough?
Liam clicks his tongue, too stupid or too cocky to heed the precarious situation he’s found himself in. “Unless…” His gaze bounces between where I’m clinging to Mase like a koala and King. “Is Nova not the only one sampling my leftovers? Is the football princess bending the knee for your Royals and doing more than kissing the ring?”
A hush falls over the tunnel while every muscle of Mase’s body that I’m in contact with seizes.
With a calm reminiscent of the eye of a hurricane, he slides his hands down the backs of my thighs, hooking them under my knees to unwrap my legs and lower me to the ground. He tries to move me behind him, to safety.
I clutch at the front of his jersey. While I can appreciate the instinct to protect me, what he fails to realize is I feel the same toward him.
Unfortunately, Mason is literally twice my size, and I’m dragged with each stomp he takes toward Liam.
King plants himself in front of us, and Trav’s arms lock around Mase’s neck while Kev and Alex flank our sides.
“Don’t,” Trav says through gritted teeth as we struggle to restrain Mason.
“The fuck you say about my girl?” I’ve never heard him sound so feral.
“Mase”—I flatten my palms, dig my heels into the floor for traction, and push—“he’s not worth it,” I plead.
He struggles against the arms binding him. “He. Doesn’t. Get. To. Talk. About. You. Like. That.”
“Please.” Push. Step. “Mase.” Push. Step. “This is what he wants.”
I’m sweating by the time we manage to back him into the locker room, my beanie falling to the ground in the process.
“That fucker needs to be taught a lesson.”
His teammates maintain their hold on him while I reach up to cup his face in my hands.
“He’s not worth it,” I insist, but he won’t look at me. “Please.” I try tugging on his ears—no dice. “Please.” Finally he drops his gaze to me, his pupils dilated in banked fury.
With a jerk of his chin, he’s released, and the next second I’m crushed to his chest, my forehead knocking against the hard plastic of his chest protector.
“Anyone want to tell me what all the commotion is about?” Coach Knight bellows as he pushes through a cluster of players.
“Nothing,” Trav answers for the group. “It’s handled, Coach.”
“Kayla.” Coach Knight comes to a stop when he spots me in the mix. “You can’t be in here.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” I wiggle out of Mase’s hold. “I was just leaving.” I turn for the door.
“The fuck you are.” Mase tugs me by the hand, preventing my exit. He’s beyond pissed. He’s dropping F-bombs left and right, a vein pulses in his temple, and his chest is heaving like he just ran a ninety-yard touchdown.
“It’s fine.” I show him the text that came through from King. “He’s gone.”
One, one stride is all it takes for Mase to be in front of me, no thought to our audience made up of his teammates, a hand curling around the back of my neck. This is my possessive caveman, and I have to push onto my toes under the strength of his hold.
“Kay.” His lashes fan across his cheeks as he closes his eyes, breathing me
