Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 135364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
I see red.
My fists clench, my jaw locks, and rage coils hot and tight in my gut.
How fucking dare he.
How dare he drag me into his bullshit.
How dare he use me as some kind of weapon to torment her with.
Like she’s just some stupid girl who can’t possibly be taken seriously because a man looked at her for more than two fucking seconds.
Like I was the reason he thought he could tear her down.
Like I gave him the right to do that.
I can’t fucking stand it.
I wanted to shut him up right there, right then. I wanted to rip his throat out.
Fuck - I still do.
I don’t care if it could get me fined, suspended, even thrown out of the fucking league - I want to wreck him for even thinking he could talk to her like that.
My stomach twists.
I know she’s thinking about it too. That it got under her skin.
I’d watched as she stood there all defiant with her hands clenched into fists, her breath unsteady, but she still didn’t let him see her break.
And fuck, if I didn’t already hate him for how he had spoken to her, then that would have done it.
Knowing that I stood back and did nothing is going to haunt me, but stepping in at that moment wouldn’t have helped her.
Because this wasn’t about Daphne's work. Not really.
It wasn’t about her talent - not even about her career.
It was about me.
My attention. My fucking smirk.
Like I’d done something wrong just by looking at her.
It makes me fucking sick.
Daphne Sinclair shouldn’t have to prove herself to a worthless fuck like him.
I can’t figure out why he hates her so much, either.
Is it because she’s young?
Because she’s a woman?
Because she’s good and he knows it?
Or - and this is what makes me really want to destroy him - is it because she doesn’t worship him?
Because she isn’t hanging onto his every word like he’s some kind of fucking legend?
Because he’s seen something that’s told him she’s more interested in me?
The thought makes my blood boil.
I meant what I said to her: Mark Chapman wasn’t acting like a boss. He was acting like a jealous boyfriend.
And that makes me want to put him in the fucking ground.
I exhale sharply, dragging a hand through my damp hair.
I have to calm down. I have to get this under control.
Because if I don’t - if I let this fester, if I let this rage dictate what happens next - then I will find Mark Chapman, and I will end his fucking career myself.
And I don’t even mean in football. I mean in life.
I close my eyes for a second, taking a deep breath through my nose.
But when I open them, all I see is her.
Daphne, standing there in that fucking perfect outfit that hugged her hips and made my mouth dry, narrowing her green eyes at me like I was a problem she couldn’t figure out.
Beautiful. Sharp.
Fucking untouchable.
I scrub a hand down my face.
I was trying to play it cool. Trying to tease her, trying to check if she was okay without making it obvious that I was two seconds away from hunting that bastard down.
But then she’d looked at me with eyes full of fire, telling me that I didn’t get it - that I had no idea what it’s like to be questioned, to have people decide who you are before you even say a word.
And something inside me just snapped.
She doesn’t know me. She has no idea what the fuck I’ve been through, no idea what it’s like to have to constantly fight for respect in this game.
But oh, I had wanted to tell her everything. Wanted to drag her into my world and make her understand that I’ve been fighting to prove myself since I was a fucking kid.
The way she looked at me, though - like she didn’t believe me, like she thought I was just some spoiled, arrogant asshole who’s had everything handed to him -
It fucking wrecked me.
I let out a rough, humorless laugh and run a shaking hand through my damp hair, forcing myself to breathe.
Dio.
She’s under my skin.
She’s so fucking under my skin, and I don’t know how to get her out.
I scrub a hand down my face, trying to regain some control.
I can’t be this reckless. I can’t afford to let myself lose focus right now.
Not when we’re this close to something bigger than me. Not when the title race is in full swing, when we’re weeks away from everything we’ve worked for.
And yet…
She’s the only thing in my head.
Her fire, her fury, the way she stood there and took it, even when I could tell she wanted to tear him apart.
And maybe I let my frustration bleed through too much. Maybe I got too intense.
Because when I stepped closer, when I threw her assumptions back in her face, she didn’t have a comeback. Didn’t push back like I expected.