“Well, why don’t you put the phone away?” he suggests, and there’s a bite to his tone. “You’re out with your family. Whoever you’re talking to can wait.”

I shove the phone back in my purse. Not because he ordered me to, but because I might’ve hurled it in his face otherwise. Callum never cared if I texted my friends during a football game. If anything, he was happy that I had friends in the first place.

Beside me, Steve nods in approval and refocuses his attention on the game.

I try to do the same, but I’m all riled up again. I want to catch Reed’s eye and mouth to him how much I dislike Steve, but I know Reed will just tell me to ignore him, that Steve will get “bored” of this father stuff eventually.

Except I’m starting to think that’s not going to happen.

15

Reed

After the game, Dad and Steve insist on taking us out for a late dinner at some French place in the city. I don’t want to go, but I’m not exactly given a choice. Dad wants us to be seen in public. He says we can’t hide, that we need to act like nothing’s wrong.

But everything is wrong. All those stares at the game tonight… Shit, my back and my ears are still burning from all the condemning eyes and scornful whispers that pierced me.

At dinner, I sit in stony silence and wish I were at home, preferably with my lips on Ella’s and my hands all over her body.

Beside me, East stuffs his face like he hasn’t eaten in weeks, but I guess he’s earned the right to pig out. Astor Park kicked Marin High’s ass tonight. We finished the fourth quarter four TDs ahead, and everyone was in high spirits afterward.

Well, except for me. And maybe Wade, who—for the first time since I’ve known him—didn’t announce that he would be celebrating the win with a BJ followed by lots and lots of sex. He was in a crappy mood as he stripped out of his gear and stomped out of the locker room. I think he said he was going home, which, again, isn’t very Wade-like.

On my other side, Ella is also stone-faced. I think Steve said something to rub her the wrong way at the game, but I’m not going to ask her about it until we’re alone. Steve’s been on some weird power trip ever since he came back from the dead. He keeps talking about how he has a daughter now, so he has to set a better example. Dad, of course, nods in approval every time Steve says shit like that. In Callum Royal’s eyes, Steve O’Halloran can do no wrong. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember.

When we get back from dinner, Dad and Steve hurry off to the study, where they’re probably going to chain-drink Scotch and drone on about their SEAL days. East and the twins disappear into the game room, which leaves just Ella and me.

Finally.

“Upstairs?” I growl, and I know she doesn’t miss the predatory gleam in my eyes.

Riding the bench tonight sucked ass. Forget the fact that everyone in the stands was talking about me, and that some asshole coughed the word “killer” into his palm when he passed me. Not playing was a thousand times worse. I felt like a useless sack of potatoes, not to mention more than a little jealous as I watched my friends pummel the other team.

All the aggression I didn’t get to expend tonight is rearing up now. Luckily, Ella doesn’t seem to mind. She flashes me that beautiful smile and tugs me toward the staircase.

We practically sprint to her bedroom. I lock the door, then lift her up in my arms and march over to the bed. She squeaks in delight as I fling her onto the mattress.

“Clothes,” I order, licking my lips.

“What about them?” She toys with the bottom of her loose green sweater, all innocence.

“Off,” I growl.

She smiles again, and I swear my heart soars to the sky. I don’t think I could have survived this week if I didn’t have Ella by my side. The murmurs at school, the phone calls from my lawyer, the police investigation that’s still going strong. As much as I hated Brooke, it’s not like I’m jumping for joy that she’s dead. I’m not going to miss her, that’s for sure, but nobody deserves to die like that.

“Reed?” Ella’s humor fades when she sees my face. “What’s wrong?”

I swallow. “Nothing. I was just thinking about stuff I shouldn’t be thinking about.”

“Like what?”

“Nothing,” I say again, and try to distract her by peeling my long-sleeve shirt over my head.

It works. The moment she lays eyes on my bare chest, she makes a breathy little sound that goes right to my dick. I love that she loves my body. I don’t care if that makes me some cocky, superficial jerk. The way her eyes darken with pleasure and her tongue comes out to lick her bottom lip is the biggest ego boost a guy could ever get.

“Your stitches,” she says, as she’s done all week when we’ve fooled around.

“Healing nicely,” I answer, as I’ve done all week when we’ve fooled around. “Now take off your clothes before I do it for you.”

She looks intrigued, as if she’s wondering whether to be difficult just so I’ll follow through on the threat, but I guess she’s as horny as I am, because her clothes start coming off in the next moment.

My entire mouth turns to dust when her pink bra and matching underwear are revealed. Ella has no idea how gorgeous she is. Every girl at Astor Park would die to have those curves, that golden hair, the flawless features. She’s pure and total perfection. And she’s all fucking mine.

Keeping my pants on, I climb onto the bed and press my body against her, my mouth finding hers again. We make out forever. Kissing and groping and rolling around on the bed until finally I can’t take it anymore. Her underwear comes off. My pants are undone. Her hand is on me and my hand is between her legs and it’s so good I can’t think straight.

“Lie back,” she murmurs.

Holy hell, she’s bent over me now, and her mouth is doing things that drive me absolutely crazy.

Her hair falls over my thighs. I thread my fingers through the soft strands, guiding her over me. “Faster,” I whisper.

“Like this?”

“Yeah. Like that.”

Her lips and tongue shove me right over the edge, and even though it’s probably the biggest cliché in the book, once my body settles I pull her up and tell her I love her.