Page 63 of The Heart Breaker

COLE

Practice should’ve wiped me out enough that my head was empty. Usually, by the time I’m peeling off my gear, my brain finally shuts the hell up for a minute.

Not today.

Today, every second I spend yanking off pads and shoving them into my bag, all I can think about isher.

Three times last week.

Three goddamn times I’ve had Aurora when I told myself the Halloween party would be the last.

I didn’t mean to fuck her when I dropped her off after the tattoo. But apparently, being alone with Aurora for more than five minutes without ending up buried inside her is impossible.

I told myself I’d get her out of my head. I’d be able to take all that frustration and fuck it out of both of us. Instead, the second I pushed into her, I knew I was fucked. Knew it before I’d even pulled out. There was no chance that was the end of it.

No chance in hell I was done with her.

So I got her number from Ryan a few days later—who gave me a weird look but, thankfully, kept his mouth shut—and told her to come over.

Honestly, I expected her to tell me to go fuck myself.

Instead, she showed up at my door in the skimpiest dress I’ve ever seen. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed tearing clothes off someone more in my life.

The second time, she texted me,You up? and I was out the door a minute later, already on my bike. As soon as I found her at some party, she grabbed my shirt, dragged me down the hall, and shoved me into an empty room.

I can still see the mark of my hand on her ass when she turned to check herself in the mirror and called me a sadist. I stood there in the doorway, watching her, and all I could think about was sinking my teeth into that same spot just so I could soothe it with my tongue afterward.

And the third time was Saturday night at the bar. I was already there when she walked in wearing ripped jeans and a black top that clung to every curve.

I watched every head turn as she made her way to the bar, acting like she didn’t notice the attention even though she definitely did. Some idiot decided to try his luck and went up to her with a teasing smile and slung an arm around her. I couldn’t hear what he said, but I sure as shit saw the way Aurora peeled his hand off her, then said something that made his face drop and retreat to his friends after being rejected.

And fuck, it made me hard as a rock watching her shut him down like it was nothing. I finished my drink, pulled out my phone, and texted her to meet me outside.

One minute I was at the back of the bar, smoking by myself. The next, she was in front of me, dropping to her knees.

After she sucked me dry, I tucked myself back into my jeans and walked back inside, trying to look like nothing had happened. I barely made it back to the table before a redhead slid into the empty spot beside me.

For the life of me I can’t remember what she was talking about—something about my tattoos, probably—but I let her keep talking, because what the hell else was I supposed to do in front of the guys? Tell her to get lost because I’d just been on the receiving end of the hottest blowjob of my life by the girl I’m supposedly enemies with?

Yeah, no way in hell was I doing that.

Aurora came back in a couple of minutes later and paused when she saw the redhead beside me. I held her gaze, expecting her to make a scene, or at least look pissed. Instead, she just went back to her friends.

For some reason, that pissed me off more than anything that has ever come out of her mouth.

It’s not like I wanted her to get jealous. Jealousy would mean expectations, and we both know expectations are a death sentence to whatever this is. But the entire night, I kept finding her in the crowd, waiting—hoping—for her to look at me. To acknowledge me. To give me… something. A glare, a smirk, a challenge. Fucking anything.

She didn’t look at me once.

Eventually I walked out and headed home.

I still don’t know if I was more pissed at her for acting like nothing happened, or at myself forwantingher to react.

You’d think that after having her, after learning every sound she makes, I’d be bored. Instead, she’s only gotten deeper, working her way under my skin and straight into my veins.

Aurora Prescott is a drug, and I’m getting terrible at pretending I’m not addicted.

I drop onto the bench in front of my locker, roll my shoulders, and start unstrapping my pads while the guys talk about something across the room. I usually tune their bullshit out without even trying.