Risking the Crown (The Crown 2)

“Oh, really?” The blinds were drawn and I didn’t know if the rain had stopped.

“In order to fit in all of the matches from yesterday we have to get on the court early. I need you and Scott to be there in an hour.”

“An hour?” I was disoriented. Everything about last night was still lingering on me. I could still taste her. I could feel her on my skin. It was dark in Sierra’s room.

“It’s shitty, but you don’t get a full hour for warm ups. We have to make due with the time we have. The Italians are probably already there.”

I looked over my shoulder at Sierra. She had climbed back onto the bed and pulled the sheet to her chest. Why was she covering up those fucking amazing tits of hers?

“I don’t think they are,” I mumbled. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.

“How do you know that?” he asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Say it’s a fucking hunch, ok?”

“I’m going to call Scott next. Get your shit together and I’ll see you two there.”

“Got it.”

I hung up and tossed the phone on the end of the bed.

Sierra’s gaze was almost indescribable. What was it? Regret? Sadness? Remorse? I couldn’t tell.

“That was Eric. We have a game time,” I explained.

“Why hasn’t anyone called me?” Her voice sounded as if it were on auto-pilot. At that moment, her phone rang and she pulled it from her purse.

“Hello?” She listened as if it was the first time she was receiving the information. “Si, si.”

She hung up and spun to face me.

“I guess we better get ready to go,” she spoke softly. “That was Paulo.”

But I stood there, facing her. Not ready to move. Not ready for what happened between us to be something that was hidden on the sidelines. I didn’t know what I wanted. Only that one night wasn’t enough. Pretending it didn’t happen wasn’t ok with me.

I didn’t want to show up at the match and see her dressed in Italian green. I didn’t want her to help Sergio and Paulo when she should be on Team USA.

“Sierra …” I didn’t know how to start or finish what I was thinking or feeling.

“Neither one of us has much time.”

I saw her hair fall gently on her shoulders and I almost lost it. I wanted her. I wanted her to be mine.

“We aren’t going into that match today like this,” I tugged the sheet from her hands, until it fell from her body and landed at her feet.

“What do you mean?” She instantly planted her hands on her breasts, but I slid them to the side of her body, exposing her creamy skin.

I stared at her nipples, how they perked into hard tiny buds for me.

“What I mean is when I look over on the sideline, I want to know you’re mine. If you have to wear those damn colors and pull for another country, then at least you can be mine.”

“Ohh.” I heard her breath hitch. “At the very least,” she agreed.

I saw the recognition in her eyes.

God, she was fucking amazing.

“But …”