Yellow Thorns (Thorns Duet #0.5) by Rina Kent

“That will be soon, bitch.” Brianna breaks out in laughter and the others follow, except for Lucy, and also Reina, who doesn’t laugh or smile unless it’s on her terms. She’s a leader, not a follower, and makes that apparent in each of her moves.

“What is that supposed to mean, bitch?” I ask Brianna.

“Let’s just say your holier-than-thou attitude will be gone once—”

“Bree,” Reina cuts her off with a stern look before she directs me, “Off you go.”

I narrow my eyes on her, then meet Lucy’s gaze, but she gives me an apologetic smile. One that says she’s staying with this band of assholes.

But then again, that’s not a surprise. Luce has always loved Reina and her followers. If anything, this is like a dream come true for her.

Releasing a long sigh, I plug in my headphones and leave while listening to In the Dark by Bring Me The Horizon. Ordinarily, I’d wait until I was off of the field, but I’m more desperate than usual to block their whispers today. Especially since I don’t have Luce with me to lessen the blow.

Does this mean I’m losing her to the queen bee? She has everything and everyone she wants, why does she have to take my only friend as well?

Sharp tangs of loneliness flood the base of my stomach and leave a bitter aftertaste at the back of my throat. And it scares me. The fact that I have no one and am all alone terrifies the shit out of me.

But no more so than the idea of actually reaching out to people and being vulnerable just so they can hurt me. Both are horrifying monsters I think of every day.

Ever since the day I trusted someone and they violated my innocence.

I’m so engrossed in my thoughts and the loud rock music that I’m completely blinded to my surroundings.

That’s when it happens.

I see the ball traveling my way at supersonic speed.

But it’s too late.

My legs remain frozen in place as my eyes widen in preparation for the impact.

But instead of the ball, a flash of movement catches in my peripheral vision before a hard body slams into mine.

And not just any body.

The body of the football player whose existence I’ve spent years trying to ignore.

And failing.





2





Naomi





I tumble to the ground.

Or rather, both of us do in a mess of limbs and groans and awkward touches.

More accurately, inappropriate touches.

Holy Jesus.

Please tell me I didn’t just brush my fingers against his thing right now.

I quickly remove my hand while he’s trying to get off me, and that knocks us both down again.

But this time, he’s glued to me. His cut body covering my entire front and his naked chest on my breasts. Now, I’m definitely touching his thing—or my stomach is, anyway.

My cheeks would be flaming red if my emotions appeared on the surface. I never thought I’d feel the ridges of his body this intimately.

At least, not in this lifetime.

Jesus. His abdomen is as firm as the ground against my back, only it’s soft enough to sleep on.

Or rub my face against it.

Or any other activity that includes touching it.

He plants his palms on the ground on either side of my head and pushes up a little. His stomach, thighs, and umm, his erection, are still pressed against me.

That’s when I have my first full view of him.

Sebastian Weaver.

Star quarterback.

A former senator’s grandson.

And dangerous.

It’s not only because of his lethally attractive looks, because honestly? He could be the most beautiful man God has created. Okay, in the top five.

His face may as well have been sculpted from granite, all rough edges and with predefined expressions. Not in a serial killer kind of way, but in a ‘hello, I’m your next fantasy’ kind of way. His cut jawline and sharp nose add to the general perfection that God bestows upon only some of his creations.

His eyes, though, tell a completely different story. It’s not solely about their light green color that resembles the shade of a tropical sea that I’ve only seen in pictures. But what’s most striking about them is the fading light in their depths, almost as if he’s mad with the supremacy he was given. Or maybe he considers it a burden.

Gee, if having his looks is a burden, we can switch.

Or not.

That would make me a guy and I’d have to carry the cheer squad.

Okay, wait. Am I really thinking about carrying the cheerleaders when I’m trapped under Sebastian’s body?

A very hard one at that. No, I don’t mean his dick is hard, though I think it’s getting there, but all of him, from his chest to his thighs and even his whole face.

His dark sandy-blond hair falls across his forehead, creating a dreamy contrast against his sun-kissed skin and the light color of his eyes. Eyes that are currently narrowing at me as if I committed a mistake by merely existing.

“Move,” he says in that slightly raspy voice of his, one that’s meant to whisper dirty things in the dark.

Or maybe in the light. Who cares?

“What?”

“Either you heard me and you’re playing dumb or you have hearing issues. Both of which I don’t give a fuck about.”

My small ‘worship at his altar while ogling him’ phase comes to a screeching halt at both his words and their condescending tone.