Behind the Pitch, a novella: Seeking Serenity 1.5 by Butler Eden

Author:Butler, Eden [Butler, Eden]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: New Adult
Published: 2014-01-23T23:00:00+00:00

On the pitch, I was free.

I ran, sprinted, tackled, stole the ball and there was nothing else that clouded my mind. On the pitch, I had not been forced into secrets, not responsible for anything but loving the smell of the grass and the heavy grunts and curses from my opponents.

Out there, my mind was not cluttered with the memory of Autumn’s lips or the taste of her skin. This was my time to focus. This was my moment of glory. Unless, she runs around us, right on the fecking track, tempting me.

Autumn McShane was my kryptonite.

I had managed to avoid her, to break clear of her completely. Well, if I’m being honest, not wholly and completely. I saw her at the book sale, watched her with... with her da, and a part of me still wanted to protect her, wanted to shield her from the man who had abandoned her. Other parts of me that were louder and nagged more insistently, told me to leave off. Mostly, I listened to those parts. But fuck me, was it hard.

You simply didn’t walk away from someone like Autumn. She gets into your system, eradicates your sense. The woman was a fecking witch. A hot, funny, curvy, soft-in-the-right-spots, witch.

Morrison whistled at her as she ran past the pitch and I resisted the urge to attack him, though it was so fecking hard. She didn’t offer him more than a curt nod, seeming focused on her run, but because I stared after her a little longer than necessary, stopping my sprints to watch the way her hips moved, the lush curves of her arse, well, I drew the attention of the coach and our bollocks of a captain.

“Problem, Fraser?” he said, daring me with one look to keep gawking at Autumn.

I shook my head, not eager to invite more trouble from that wanker, and doubled my efforts with the squad. “Come on, lads. Let’s get this right this time,” I told my teammates, discussing new plays, tactics that I hoped would help us in our next match.

I blocked Autumn out, pretended I couldn’t smell her perfume on the wind, and instead tried to concentrate on our practice. Freedom. That’s what the sport was to me. Freedom from worries and submitting to the sheer euphoria of my blood pumping, the viral speed of endorphins shooting to my brain, moving me down the field with joy across my face. We scrimmaged, I ran and focused on the drills, on the new plays until I didn’t notice her staring at me, until Morrison with his damn whistle and smug, satisfied smile became a blur.

Then, I took a breath, grabbed a bottle of water from the sidelines and noticed that Autumn was no longer alone.

Shite. Feck. Bollocks.

Ms. Complication was with her. I had not seen this particular complication coming until it wiggled its way into my life. “It” being the too thin, wicked busty form of Heather. That girl was insistent and she simply refused to accept the word “no”.

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