The Annual University Sports Gala was Ella's personal version of a nightmare. It was mandatory attendance for all team leaders, coaches, and their immediate families a massive, glittering stage for Caleb O'Connell to present the image of a unified, fiercely loyal Wolves front.
Ella wore a sleek, sapphire-blue dress the color of Wolves territory and plastered on a smile that felt heavy and fake. She was seated next to Caleb at the captain's table, directly across the room from the rival Panthers table. And directly across the room from Jimmy Thorne.
He was in a charcoal suit, looking devastatingly refined and completely out of place among the tacky maroon and gold décor. His hair was slicked back, his jaw sharp, and his deep amber eyes found hers the second she sat down.
The distance between them was less than twenty feet, yet it felt like oceans. Jimmy gave her the coldest, most indifferent look he could muster, a calculated act of public hate that made a thrilling shiver run down her spine.
You belong to me, that look seemed to snarl, but right now, you are the bait.
"Try not to look at the enemy table, El," Caleb muttered, leaning close. "They're already feeling too smug after the last game."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Ella replied, focusing fiercely on her water glass, but she could feel Jimmy's gaze like a physical weight, tracing the line of her dress.
The ordeal was excruciating. For the next hour, Ella was forced to endure speeches and polite applause, all while maintaining the perfect image of the Wolves' sister. Every polite laugh, every careful sip of wine, was an effort to ignore the man who knew the sound of her surrender.
Then, disaster or salvation struck. The President's wife, a woman who had a habit of mixing up team rosters, decided to seat the rival captains together for the final toast.
"Jimmy, dear, come join the O'Connells!" she chirped.
Ella's heart slammed against her ribs. Jimmy looked genuinely annoyed, but he obeyed, pulling up a chair right next to Ella, his presence an immediate, palpable invasion of her space.
"O'Connell," Jimmy nodded curtly to Caleb, his tone laced with distaste.
"Thorne," Caleb replied, his voice dangerously low.
Jimmy turned slightly, his thigh brushing Ella's beneath the table a searing, forbidden contact that made her breath stall. His hand rested casually on his knee, just inches from her own.
"Don't look at me, O'Connell," Jimmy murmured, his voice too low for Caleb to hear, his expression still coldly detached. "You'll ruin my appetite."
"And you ruin the atmosphere," Ella shot back, her public voice crisp and hateful. She felt the heat of his skin through his trousers and her knit dress. It was pure, deliberate torture.
The touch was a silent promise, a physical connection that cemented their secret in the very heart of enemy territory. She knew this was his game: using the public friction to elevate the private thrill.
As the President began his final, droning remarks, Ella felt Jimmy's fingers slide beneath the tablecloth. His hand found her inner thigh, hidden by the fabric of her dress. It wasn't a demanding touch this time; it was slow, possessive, and lingering, a quiet reminder of his claim.
Ella nearly choked on her water. The public part of her had to listen intently to the speech, while the private part was being irrevocably pucked under the table. She couldn't move, couldn't flinch, couldn't breathe. She just gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white, forcing her face into a mask of polite interest.
Jimmy squeezed his fingers, a silent acknowledgment of her trapped position. His eyes, when she finally risked a quick glance, were dark with amusement and triumph. He leaned in, pretending to agree with a point Caleb had just made about league schedules.
"You're doing beautifully, little liar," he whispered, his breath warm on her ear, sending shivers everywhere his hand wasn't. "But if you don't kiss me when this is over, Caleb will know why your pulse is currently hammering against his elbow."
The threat was explicit, terrifying, and the ultimate dare. Ella knew she couldn't risk a public display. She was suffocating under the pressure of his touch and the danger of their secret.
As the speeches finally wrapped up and people began to stand, Jimmy slowly, reluctantly, removed his hand. The loss of his touch was like a physical cold shock.
He rose first, giving Caleb a final, challenging look. "Enjoy your night, O'Connell. Try not to embarrass the league before playoffs."
Jimmy turned to leave, but as he passed Ella, he paused, his gaze locking with hers. And then, in a split second, he leaned down not for a conversation, but to press a quick, devastating, and deeply possessive kiss to her exposed shoulder, right where the delicate fabric of her dress began.
It was too fast for Caleb to register as anything more than a crowded, slightly rude good-bye. But to Ella, it was a brand, a permanent mark of the rival's claim.
She stood frozen, her heart racing, the phantom heat of his lips burning through the thin blue silk. She had to get out, before the heat radiating off her betrayed her completely.
That was a very dangerous interaction! Now that Jimmy has physically marked her in front of her brother, the next meeting must be highly charged.