Climb on My Stepfather (Ashley and Alex)

Chapter 75

7: Stella.

One of the girls in nice. Mindy. She's the one who offered to keep me company while Gage is practicing. The rest of them scan me like I'ma barcode and decide, apparently, that I need some work. "Oh my God, that skirt," says one of them—a pretty, raven-haired girl with a dozen hoops in one of her ears. "Are you wearing it that long on purpose?"

Mindy smacks her in the shoulder. "Shut up, Krissy. Leave her alone." Her lips tilt up in a smile. "You're risking the wrath of Gage Weston. He's extremely protective of her."

"How did you manage to reel that one in?" asks Krissy. "He's got a reputation for being ice cold with women. Barely gives them the time of day. Unless he needs to blow off steam, of course, then he just grabs whoever is available—"

"Krissy," Mindy says through her teeth.

My stomach lines itself with lead. I have the urge to leave. Run. But I suck it up and stay put. I'm not going to let the comments bother me. Of course Gage was with other women before we met. He admitted as much. And he's the star quarterback of a division one football team. No one could expect him to live like one of the priests back at the monastery. Not to mention, he feels guilty enough about his actions that he wanted me to punch him in the face.

okay," I assure Mindy, smiling

student in the parking lot. After hours. They talk about lipstick brands and their plans for the upcoming weekend. Mostly, I watch Gage. I've seen football played on the small television the priests watched at the monastery before, but never paid too close of attention. But Gage...my boyfriend...he's extraordinary. I find myself holding my breath when he has the ball, tucking it into his large hands-hands that are so gentle, yet so commanding with me and fires it off, spiraling it perfectly down the field into the waiting hands of another player. He turns his head toward the stands after every drill, every play, though I can't see his eyes from this distance, shaded as they are by his helmet. My palms begin to sweat every time he glances in my direction, a low thrum starting between my thighs. My blood hums, nipples erect. The more I register his sinewy arms and the lines, bulges and musculature outlined in his white football pants, the more I can hear my

mess around his intense face, his cheekbones colored with exertion and my mouth goes dry as a desert. Is that

to fuck

big, strong god avoid tackles and leap over bodies on the field, I cannot imagine him and I together like that. I cannot. He's like Achilles in battle, ripped from the pages of my Greek mythology text. I'm, like, a random servant girl in the background.

at me from the

his helmet back on. That's when I realize one of the

trying to break through my Gage stupor

the urge to hide behind my fall of hair.

at that blush, girls. Anyone want to guess what she's thinking about?" They break into moaning sounds and obscene gestures with their fingers.