Semua Bab Rejected by my team, Claimed by the Rival: Bab 41 - Bab 50

AUTHOR'S POVCatching the heavy metal door just before it clicked shut, Athena stepped directly into the narrow corridor outside the Ashford locker room. Her chest heaved, completely fueled by the sheer audacity of the morning's interaction. She wasn't going to let him just skate away and pretend the shift in the atmosphere hadn't happened.Jeremiah was walking toward the exit, his heavy duffel bag slung over his right shoulder."Jeremiah, stop walking for two seconds," Athena demanded, stepping squarely into his path.He paused, his jaw visibly tightening. He didn't meet her eyes, staring instead at the cinderblock wall just past her ear."I’m busy, Cole," Jeremiah said, his voice entirely devoid of the warmth he had shown her just twenty-four hours ago. "I have film to review.""Film?" Athena scoffed, gesturing to the keys dangling from his fingers. "You’re literally carrying your car keys. Why are you acting like I don't exist? You can't just ice me out after last night.""Because

AUTHOR'S POV"I missed you," she murmured into his hoodie."Missed you too." His arms tightened around her lower back, pulling her closer.That's when she felt it.A subtle shift. A thickening against her hip, pressing through the layers of denim and cotton. She pulled back just enough to look down, and sure enough. The outline of his hard cock was visible through his jeans, straining against the zipper.She raised an eyebrow. "Someone's happy to see me."Jeremiah's ears went red. "Been a week. Cut me some slack.""Cut you some slack?" She smirked, her hand dropping from his shoulder to his belt. "I don't think so."Her fingers worked the buckle loose, then the button. The zipper came down with a metallic rasp that cut through the ambient noise of the dorm. She slid her hand inside his boxers, her fingers wrapping around his cock. He was already fully hard, the skin hot and smooth, the head slick with a bead of precum."Jeremiah," she said, her voice low. "You're already dripping."He

ATHENAThe foam windscreen of a microphone scraped against my chin. Sweat trickled down my spine, pooling uncomfortably beneath the polyester collar of my Ashford coaching polo."Miss Cole, given your... controversial exit from Westbridge, how do you justify taking the reins of a bottom-tier program like the Falcons?" The reporter shoved his digital recorder closer, his breath smelling heavily of stale coffee and mints. "Are you just trying to stay relevant, or do you actually believe you can beat Luca Ryder’s championship roster?"Heat radiated off the concrete of Bruin Plaza. The Los Angeles sun slammed hard against the university courtyard, baking the hundreds of students, athletes, and media personnel crammed around the pop-up broadcast tents.Stepping back, I maintained a flat, unbothered expression. "I don't justify my career choices to the press. And the Falcons aren't a bottom-tier program. We’re a rebuilding program. There’s a massive difference.""But Westbridge’s defensive

ATHENA"This terminal is a literal brick."Tessa slammed her palm against the edge of the subterranean library desk. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sickly, sterile glow over the endless rows of microfiche cabinets. The air down in the UCLA archives tasted like decaying paper and extreme air conditioning."Keep your voice down," I hissed, leaning over her shoulder. "If they kick us out, we lose access to the central server completely.""Athena, look at the screen." Tessa pointed a manicured finger at the blinking red prompt. "It requires a twelve-digit faculty administrative key. We can't just guess a password with that much encryption. Luca’s burner accounts are buried behind a faculty firewall."Grinding my back teeth together, I scanned the vast, empty basement.Twenty yards away, a high-level IT administrator sat slumped inside a glass-walled cubicle. A stained nametag reading *BARNES* hung crookedly from his lanyard. He was rhythmically tapping a pen against his chi

Faster.Wind roared past my helmet, sharp and freezing against my jaw.Faster.Digging my left edge into the deeply scarred ice of the Ashford rink, I crossed the red line at a full, reckless sprint. Getting this roster’s transition speed under three seconds before Friday’s qualifier was the only objective that mattered."Pass!" My voice cracked like a gunshot through the empty, echoing arena.Miller fired a heavy rubber puck off the corner boards. It ricocheted violently. Catching the spin perfectly on the tape of my composite stick, I didn't break stride. Westbridge’s entire defense relied on closing gaps. If I could shatter this gap, the rest of the team would follow.Approaching the blue line, I dropped my weight.Planting my right skate, I twisted my hips to execute a high-speed reverse pivot.SNAP.The sound cracked louder than a fractured collarbone.Zero friction met the ice. My right leg completely gave out. Gravity yanked me violently backward and the world spun into a blu