All Chapters of The Football players Feisty Girl: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

**RIVER**I walk out of the club with the girl already clinging to my arm like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she loosens her grip. She’s laughing at something I didn’t fucking say, heels clicking unevenly against the pavement, body pressed against my side as we cut across the lot. The valet watches us approach with the careful blankness of someone who’s seen this exact scene a hundred times.She releases me long enough to stumble around the hood of my car. She practically falls into the passenger seat, her dress shifting to give me—and the valet—an eyeful of her tits. That right there is the only reason she’s here.I’d only come to the club to unwind—kill a few hours, drink enough to dull the edge, maybe forget Wildcat for five fucking minutes. The girl had been all over me from the second I sat down. Hands on my arm, laughing too loud at nothing, pressing up against my side like she’d already decided how the night ended. I hadn’t argued. I needed the release. Something mindless.

**EMERSON**"You want to know what's special about today?" His voice drops to something low and furious, stripped of every ounce of the lazy amusement."I'll tell you exactly what's special. I'm done being patient. I'm done letting you walk around this campus acting like none of this touches you, like I'm some joke you get to laugh at every time I open my mouth. You've spent two days making me look like an idiot in front of people who've spent years being careful with my name. That ends today. Not eventually. Today.""Wow. Big feelings. Should I be taking notes?""Keep laughing. Because by the end of today you're going to remember this conversation and wish you'd taken it seriously. I don't forget. I don't move on. And I don't leave marks without finishing them.""That a threat or a prophecy? I keep losing track of which one you think you are.""It's a fact." He leans in, voice quieter and infinitely more dangerous than shouting would have been. "You made yourself my problem, Wildcat

**RIVER**“Leaving so soon, Wildcat?”She doesn’t soften. If anything, her voice goes sharper. “Astute observation. Yes, that’s generally what walking toward an exit means.”Behind us, I can still feel Lisa watching. Jax too. Half the remaining cafeteria pretending not to.Good.Let them see the difference between a cheap cafeteria stunt and what it looks like when I put my hands on what’s mine to finish.I tighten my grip and pull her closer. Close enough that the last of the cafeteria noise dulls around us. Close enough that I can see the exact second her bravado thins.Her vigor fades. The fear underneath moves forward. Her eyes widen. Her lips part with a tiny tremor she can’t quite kill. She’s scared of me right now, and she can’t hide it anymore.My cock twitches in my jeans.I enjoy her anger. I enjoy her annoyance. But her defiance — the way she still tries to hold the line even while her body gives her away — fuck me. It turns me on more than it should. Most people break cle

**RIVER**The locker room is half-empty after practice, the air thick with steam and soap and the leftover heat of ninety minutes under Coach Hart’s whistle. Most of the team cleared out fast. Smart.I stayed.The girl on her knees in front of me, more than eager to please me —eager, already halfway out of her top by the time I locked the side door to the coaches’ corridor end of the room. Her hands are on my thighs. Her mouth is busy. And my head is nowhere near her.Wildcat.I tip my head back against the cool metal of the locker and stare at the ceiling while the girl works, slow and wet and trying too hard. It should be enough. It usually is. Anonymous. Convenient. A way to burn off the edge without conversation.Instead all I can see is blonde hair and a stubborn mouth and the way Emerson looked at me when she twisted out of my grip in the cafeteria. The apple hitting the floor. *Fetch.* Like she still thought she got to script the ending.My fingers tighten in the girl’s hair.S

**RIVER**The corridor outside the locker room still smells like cleaner and old sweat when I push through the exit doors into the night.Cool air hits my face. I breathe it in once, hard, like it might scrape Coach Hart’s voice out of my head. It doesn’t. The lecture is still sitting there, low and furious, the kind of warning men like him think counts as power. *Sit. Follow my rules. You’re a quarterback, not a king.*Cute.I adjust the strap of my bag and cut across the side path toward the athletic lot. My hands are steady. My pulse isn’t — not because of Hart, and not because of the girl who scrambled out of the locker room half-dressed and useless. That whole scene already feels distant. Useful only in the way it proved how fast people run when the wrong adult opens a door.Wildcat is the one still under my skin.I hate that more than the lecture.The lot is thinner than it was after practice. A few cars left. A security light buzzing over the far row. My Porsche should be wher