Leaving Isla in my room this morning felt like trying to quit breathing. Impossible. Painful. And a little bit stupid, if I was being honest. Because no matter how much I told myself to walk away, she was still there.

In my bed.

In my jersey.

In my head.

I knew she'd wake up with that sharp tongue ready to flay me alive, her hangover clouding the memory of how she ended up tangled in my sheets. But the sight of her curled up like she belonged there? That wasn't something I could forget.

Her dark eyes found mine, hazy with sleep but focused enough to pin me in place. She didn't say a word, but she didn't have to. Her gaze screamed everything she refused to admit. And damn it, I wanted to pull her against me, fist my hands in her messy hair, and drown in the chaos she brought to my life.

It wasn't fair. How could she look so perfect wearing something of mine? Like a claim I hadn't realized I staked but now couldn't imagine giving up.

Fuck, I can feel my dick tenting in my shorts just thinking about her.

Walking out of that room felt like a punishment. Shooting penalty shots on the field was supposed to burn off the frustration, but the ball hitting the net wasn't enough to drown out the memories. Isla. Her bare legs, the way my jersey hit mid-thigh, making it impossible not to imagine sliding my hands higher—

"Dwyers!"

Coach's bark jolted me back to reality, and I turned toward him. He stood near a guy who looked too familiar, and as I jogged closer, my stomach sank.

Jake Sutton.

Coach clapped a hand on Jake's shoulder, grinning like he'd just found the golden ticket. "This is Jake Sutton. He just transferred in, and he's gonna be our starting striker."

Jake's smirk was the same as always—smug, sharp, and oozing with the kind of arrogance that made my fists itch. His dark eyes scanned the field before landing on me, glinting with something that screamed challenge.

"Dwyers," Coach said, gesturing at me, "I'll leave you two to catch up, but don't take too long."

Jake didn't wait for an invitation. He sauntered over, his gait full of that infuriating swagger I remembered too well.

"Hey, Theo," he drawled, his tone as fake as the friendliness in his eyes. "Long time, no see."

"Not long enough," I muttered under my breath, my hands tightening into fists at my sides.

Coach, either oblivious or deliberately ignoring the tension rolling off me, moved on, shouting instructions to the rest of the team. But Jake stayed put, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble meant just for me.

"Keeping my girl nice and warm, huh?" His smirk widened, a dagger coated in smugness.

My laugh was sharp, slicing through the space between us. "Your girl?" I stepped in closer, letting my words drip with venom. "Did all that hair gel finally seep into your brain, or were you just born this delusional?"

His smirk faltered—just for a fraction of a second—but I caught it. That flicker of anger in his eyes was as satisfying as watching a ball hit the back of the net.

But Jake wasn't one to stay down for long. He recovered quickly, leaning in, his voice steady and calculated. "Still stuck on your stupid little crush, huh?" The smirk came back, colder this time. "Tell me, has she put those lips to work yet? Or is she still playing hard to get?"

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, but I didn't flinch. I couldn't. Not with him watching me like a hawk, waiting for a reaction.

Then he leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear, making my skin crawl.

"She might not put out," he murmured, his voice dark and laced with smug satisfaction, "but her dick-sucking skills? Perfection."

He pulled back just enough to smirk, punctuating the disgusting statement with a casual chef's kiss, as if he hadn't just lit a fuse under my temper.

The rage that erupted inside me burned hot and fast, a wildfire I barely contained. My fists curled at my sides, nails digging into my palms as I stared him down.

"You're real brave or real stupid," I said, my voice ice-cold and steady.

I stepped forward, closing the distance until he had no choice but to lean back slightly. His bravado flickered, a candle in the wind.

"But if you ever talk about her like that again, you'll wish it was just hair product frying your brain and not my fist breaking your jaw."

For a moment, just a moment, I saw hesitation flicker in his eyes. It was there and gone in an instant, replaced by his irritating bravado.

"Relax," he said with a shrug, his smirk twitching as if he could brush this off. "Just calling it like I see it. No need to get so defensive. Unless..." He tilted his head, his dark eyes narrowing. "Maybe you're pissed because it's true?"

"Try me," I shot back, my voice sharp and cutting. "See what happens."

The whistle blew, Coach's voice barking out orders from across the pitch, breaking the tension just enough to keep me from throwing the first punch.

Jake leaned in one last time, his smirk firmly in place, though I noticed the edges weren't as sharp. "You're wound tight, man. Loosen up. It's just a joke."

The whistle sliced through the air, Coach barking orders from across the pitch, and just like that, the tension that had been simmering between Jake and me shifted, though barely. My fists were still clenched, but I held back. I wasn't about to give Jake the satisfaction of losing control. Not here. Not now.

Jake leaned in once more, that goddamn smirk plastered on his face. But this time, it was a little less sharp, a little less confident. "You're wound tight, man. Loosen up. It's just a joke."

His words hung in the air, thick and taunting. The tension between us was like an electrical current, crackling and ready to explode if one of us made the wrong move. But no one stepped in. The team was too busy, and Coach was too focused on his new lineup to notice the storm brewing between his star players.

I took a slow, deliberate breath, fighting to keep the anger at bay. His words from earlier kept looping in my mind—Her dick-sucking skills? Perfection. The way he'd said it, like he owned the goddamn world, made my blood boil. I wanted to smash that smug look off his face, wanted to make him regret ever opening his mouth about her.

But I wasn't stupid. I knew I had to hold it together. Not here. Not now.

Coach's whistle shrieked again, cutting through the haze of my fury.

"Dwyers! Sutton! Get your asses over here and run the drill! I didn't bring you two here to stand around and stare at each other like a couple of pissed-off cats."

I forced myself to move, my body responding mechanically as I walked toward the center of the field, Jake sliding into step beside me like everything was normal. Like he hadn't just dropped a bomb that had me on the edge of snapping.

"Relax, man," he said, his voice light, almost too easy. "It's just a game. No need to get all worked up."

I shot him a glare, my hands itching to do something about the smugness dripping off him.

"You don't get to talk to me like we're friends. We're not. We never were."

Jake's chuckle grated on my nerves. "Still holding a grudge, huh? Figures. You always were the sensitive type."

I stopped dead in my tracks, turning to face him. "You don't know a damn thing about me, Sutton. And you sure as hell don't know anything about her."

His smirk faltered for a split second, but he recovered quickly, his dark eyes glinting with amusement.

"Oh, I know enough. Enough to know she's not the saint you've built her up to be in your head. But hey, if you want to keep chasing after her, be my guest. Just don't be surprised when she leaves you hanging like she does everyone else."

My chest tightened, a cold rush of something sharp twisting inside me. Isla wasn't perfect. Hell, I knew that better than anyone. But she wasn't the person Jake was painting her to be. He didn't know her. Not the way I did.

"You're full of shit," I said, my voice steady, even though everything inside me was roaring to break free. "And if you think for one second, I'm going to let you talk about her like that, you're dumber than you look."

Jake raised an eyebrow, that insufferable smirk stretching wider.

"Have you confessed your feelings to her yet, Dwyers? Did she pull away unsure of herself? Or are you still too busy pining from the sidelines?"

My gut twisted, and for a second, I couldn't breathe. He wasn't wrong. And that was the problem. The fact that he could see through me, could see the cracks in the armour I was trying to keep intact, made me want to rip his face off.

"That's what I thought," he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "You're all talk, Dwyers. Always have been."

Before I could even begin to process his words, Coach's voice cut through the air, sharp and pissed off. "Dwyers! Sutton! What the hell are you two doing? Get your heads in the game or get off my field!"

I turned, forcing my legs to move even though my fists were still clenched tight. But the taste of Jake's words lingered, bitter and biting at the back of my throat. It wasn't just the game that was screwing with me. It was everything that came with it.

Practice was a blur after that. I went through the motions, each drill a mechanical step I couldn't seem to focus on. Jake's voice kept ringing in my head, making my blood simmer. But somehow, I held it together. Barely.

By the time practice ended, I was a fucking ticking time bomb. My body was tight with anger, my mind a mess of everything I was trying to ignore. I needed to get away from him. Needed space.

But of course, Jake followed me to the locker room.

"Hey, Theo," he called, that infuriatingly casual tone still in place. "You gonna show me around, or am I supposed to figure it out on my own?"

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself not to snap. I had to keep it together. Just a little longer.

"Figure it out," I bit out, voice cold. "You're a big boy. I'm sure you can handle it."

Jake's laugh hit me like nails on a chalkboard. "Still sore, huh? Don't worry, man. I'll give you some space. Wouldn't want to step on your toes."

I turned to face him, every muscle in my body on edge. "You're not stepping on anything, Sutton. But if you keep pushing me, you're gonna regret it."

His eyes sparkled with amusement, but then, his smirk twisted into something more playful—something dangerous.

"Oh, I'll be sure to steer clear. But hey," he added, his voice dropping lower, "I might take a stroll around campus later. See if I can't track down Isla. I've heard she's a lot more... interesting when she's not in your shadow."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. He didn't just want to mess with me. He was going after her. And something about the way he said it, the confidence, the casualness—it made my blood run cold.

I gritted my teeth, the tension in my shoulders like a loaded spring, but I said nothing.

Jake just gave me a nod, that damn smirk back in place, before he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the silence between us.

I couldn't move for a few moments. The weight of what he'd said hung over me, thick and suffocating. Isla wasn't his. She wasn't mine...  at least not yet anyways.

But if Jake thought he could walk onto this campus and just pick her up like she was another prize for the taking, he had another thing coming.