[18+] ENEMIES TO LOVERS SPORTS ROMANCE.
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Hannah Walker doesn't trust anyone, especially men.
They're manipulative and toxic - her lousy ex taught her that lesson well.
Enter Tristan Beckett, the embodiment of everything she despises. He's arr...
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His familiar voice had me tensing up, all of my focus shifting from Frat-bro to him.
I crossed my arms, pinning him with a glare, "You really do follow me everywhere."
His smile held no humor, "Babe, this is a free country," he gave Frat-bro a flat look before looking back at me, "Can we talk?"
"No."
Tristan frowned at my response, opening his mouth to reply when Frat-bro audibly cleared his throat and leaned forward, obstructing our view of each other. Up close, I could see the razor burn and patches of unshaven hair scattered on his weak jaw. And then my senses were assaulted by the smell of cheap piss beer and rancid sweaty armpits. I recoiled in disgust, quickly stepping back in a futile attempt to escape the rotten odor.
"No way! You're fucking Tris—"
Tristan shot him a warning look, "Obviously you know who I am, right?"
Frat-bro grinned and puffed out his chest, "Sure do, man. We met at Diego's Halloween party last year, but I don't think you remember — you were too busy getting it on with Elizabeth Buchanan."
Tristan's expression shifted from warning to murderous at his comment. "So if you know who I am, do you really want to mess with me?"
The guy blinked.
"Mess with you? Did I do something wrong?"
"Yeah. You're busy harassing my woman." Tristan stepped closer to me, forcing the guy to take a large step back.
"M-my bad, dude. I didn't know she was yours."
"She is. Now," He plucked my Mojito out of the guy's hand and flicked his chin at him, "Get lost. And if I catch you pulling any of this shit on anyone else, I'm gonna shove your head up your own asshole and make you wear yourself as a hat."
Frat-bro raised his palms, "Woah man. I meant no harm; I was just tryna—"
"Fuck off. Now."
"Jeez, bro. Fine... fucking asshole." Frat-bro glared at both of us before slinking back into the crowd, taking his sweaty armpits with him.
I watched him leave, using it as a flimsy excuse to avoid looking at Tristan. I didn't want him to see the surprised expression on my face at the fact that he came to my defense. While I was perfectly capable of handling the situation myself, there was something undeniably endearing about the way he stood up for me. Especially his "my woman" comments, even though I'm sure he didn't actually mean them. Goddammit, I was losing my feminist card by the second.
I took a deep breath, preparing myself. Seeing his face did things to me, and I needed to stay strong if I was going to survive him. Plus, I was still pissed about this afternoon, and I'd never admit it, but I was also butthurt over it.
