Bad Boy Brit (A British Bad Boy Romance) by Caitlin Daire, Avery Wilde

got.”
    I sprinted towards her. Allison skillfully ducked to one side, taking the ball with her and keeping it just out of my reach, but I was too quick.
    “What the…?”
    Allison turned back with an expression on her face that showed she hadn’t even known when she’d lost the ball.
    “Don’t feel bad,” I said with a cheeky smile. “That particular stunt wasn’t as extremely easy as I made it look.”
    Allison nodded, pulled off her jacket, and tossed it to one side. Determination flashed in her eyes. “Okay, you got it. But let’s see if you can keep it…”
    I had to admit, for someone who didn’t play every day of her life—and especially for an American who’d likely been brought up on NFL and baseball—Allison really knew how to play. Perhaps I could’ve kept the ball away from her more than I did; after all, I was apparently the best player in the world right now…but where the hell was the fun in that?
    The ball moved between us at pace, threading between legs, kicked over heads, faked and ducked around. We twisted about each other, bumping bodies as the play became faster and more physical, our breathing rapid and ragged as each tried to one-up the other.
    I wondered if she was this wild and energetic in the sack. Something told me she would be, and I felt a stirring in my pants as I considered this. The thought must have momentarily thrown me off my game, because Allison suddenly made a break for it with the ball at her feet, running faster than she had before, heading towards the far end of the pitch. Without slowing her pace she sighted the goal and kicked the ball hard, launching it in a graceful arc to land with silken perfection in the back of the net.
    I grinned and watched the goal from the middle of the pitch. I saw the kick, saw the arc, willed the ball to find its mark, and quietly exulted as it hit the net. As I began to jog towards her, I saw Allison skid to a halt and throw her hands in the air, whooping in delight—another dream fulfilled; kicking a goal in one of Britain’s most famous stadiums. I loved being the guy who’d made that happen for her.
    She flopped down to lie on the ground just as I reached her, and I joined her, lying on my back and staring up at the sky.
    “You let me have that. You could’ve caught me,” she said.
    “Nah, you beat me fair and square. It was a hell of a goal.”
    She smiled. “I guess it was pretty awesome, huh?” The excitement was vivid in her voice. “I never thought I’d ever get the chance to do that and…it’s like a dream.” She paused. “This is going to sound really childish, but honestly, this whole night has been like a dream.”
    “Doesn’t sound childish at all. Nothing wrong with loving a sport and having dreams about it at any age.”
    She turned her head on the ground to look at me. I was already staring at her, so once again our eyes met.
    Suddenly the automatic sprinklers went off to water the pitch, drenching us without cooling the heat of the moment. Allison giggled and I burst out laughing, neither of us caring one iota how wet we got.
    “You think there’s chemicals in this water?” Allison finally asked. “Like weed killer or something?”
    “Probably.”
    We both sat up and looked at each other again. I suddenly found myself very aware of the sound of my own breathing, and Allison’s breathing as well. Though we were past the exertion of our little game, we seemed to be breathing more heavily now than before. Allison’s chest rose and fell with each deep breath, and I found myself unable to look away. Her white T shirt was soaked through, and her nipples showed dark and erect through the thin material. I knew I should probably look away, but Allison seemed to be looking at my slicked torso with just as much heat in her eyes as I felt for her.
    Finally, we both looked up, and for a third time our eyes met. This time it was simply too much to bear. It would’ve been impossible to say who moved first; I