Page 61 of Vicious Butterfly
Get away from the team, my ass. No way he givesthatmuch of a shit about his team.
“No need for apologies, we all know how dedicated you are, VanCourt.”
Oh, come on. Who’s believing this shit? Part of me wants to stand up and point out the imposter among us, but the other part of me is impressed that he’s able to fool so many. It’s clear from the smiles and bright postures around the room that they admire Tate. Even Father has a smile for him.
Bet he wouldn’t if he knew how hard he was railing his dick up my ass when I was at Shadowridge.It’s hard not to snicker. I’m way too immature for a meeting like this one.
“We have a lot on the docket today,” the commissioner says. “And Coach VanCourt has prepared a proposal for us on recruiting.”
“Ah, and player safety policies,” Tate interjects. “Something has come to my attention, so I added it. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. You know how important player safety policies are to me. We’ll make time for it.” God. Even the fucking commissioner loves Tate. Probably wants to suck his dick, too. Well, nobody can have him. He’s mine.
The commissioner begins with boring shit I have zero interest in. Rosaline would eat this up. She loves policies and procedures. I just wanna hack away at a puck.
My eyelids flutter, begging to close. I didn’t sleep last night, and this man’s voice is like a lullaby. Father’s turned just enough to face the commissioner, riveted. On this front, Rosaline takes after him. She’d be the same, taking notes, formulating questions.
I’m doing my best not to fall asleep and not to look at Tate. But all I want to do are those two things. Falling asleeponTate would be the perfect combination. I want to look. Just one, secret sip of him. He’s playing the I’m-pretending-I’ve-forgotten-who-you-are card anyway. I might as well.
I look up.
Tate’s dark eyes are focused on me.
My insides burn. I bite my lip. I look away first.
Holy shit. Did I justswoonat him? I peek again. His smirky little smile says yes. Fuck. I’m supposed to glare murder at the asshole, not swoon like some lovesick idiot. That’s it. No more looking. But I can’t listen to the commissioner talk anymore, I’ll legit fall asleep. Maybe I can lust over the commissioner just to make Tate jealous.
Would Tate kill someone I was lusting over?
Ugh, he probably would. Though I’ve never seen him kill anyone. Maybe he’s all talk. My eyes find their way back to him. He’s still focused on me as if it might be killing him to be so far away from me. I have to be imagining that. Projecting what I want into the smallest hint of feeling from the unfeeling creature before me.
God, though. I want to hear his gruff voice murmuringdollfacein my ear. I will never, ever admit that out loud.
Slut, he mouths. A zing travels straight to my groin. This fucker. Flirting with me in the damn meeting. But I can’t help myself when I’m around him. It’s impossible. As casually as I can, I lick my lips, which roughly translates into,yeah, I’m your slut, VanCourt.
Eventually, we break eye contact as if we’ve come to some mutually formed agreement about it. We probably shouldn’t be staring at each other like we want to fuck in the middle of a conference governance meeting unless we want to be caught.
So, I divert my attention back to the droning commissioner, but there’s a smile on my lips. I can’t deny it, Tate’s presence makes me feel better. It’s an unexplainable phenomenon. Unless he’s performing whatever magic spell he’s put on this room on me. What do I mean,unless? He definitely is. I’m just another one of Tate’s victims.
That’s all you can ever be to Tate, Ryan.
This fucking sucks.
“I’m going to give the floor to Coach VanCourt in just a sec here, but I’m going to make something else official that some of you have already heard rumors about,” the commissioner says. “I’ll be stepping away after this season. That means we’ll be opening submissions for this position next week.”
That sentence is ice-cold water in the face, pulling me from the fun flirting we had going on, back to my stark reality. What phase isbecome commissionerin Tate’s master plan? I can’t remember, but it’s a core component. I feel Tate’s eyes burning into me, but I don’t look this time.
I know, I know. I promised to talk to my father, and I haven’t.
“Okay, VanCourt. Take it away,” the commissioner says.
The room turns to him, and immediate jealousy seizes me in a way it never has for anyone. I don’t want them staring at him, eyes mauling him. I saw the way that chick with the highlights was licking him in her mind. Cathy. Pretty sure I heard someone call her that. I’m going to pluck Cathy’s pretty little eyes out if she keeps that shit up.
His ass is mine.
Tate claps his hands together. He doesn’t stand, but he doesn’t need to. He still owns the room. His size is a factor, yes, but it’s more than that. He’s mastered the art of pulling all the energy his way. Even if you hate him, you can’t tear your eyes from him, wondering what he’ll do next.
“I did some numbers on the last six years, we’re losing top-tier talent to other conferences—refer to your booklet for charts and references. We need to refine our strategy for keeping talent.”
