Chapter 111 111
She drew in a sharp breath and instantly regretted it.
His cologne, rich and dark, wrapped around her, mixed with something unmistakably him earthy, warm, masculine. It filled her lungs and made her head spin. She tried to step back, but her body refused to cooperate. She was frozen, acutely aware of the solid wall of muscle pressed against her.
Her heart faltered when she felt his breath brush the crown of her head hot, controlled.
A startled gasp escaped her when his hand clamped around her arms. His grip was rough, calloused fingers firm as he shoved her away as though her touch had scorched him.
She would have fallen if Gilles hadn’t been directly behind her. He caught her by the arms, steadying her before she hit the floor.
She lifted her eyes just enough to meet Damien’s.
He was glaring at her.
Hard.
“Dude, it was an accident,” Gilles said firmly, stepping up beside her in a protective stance.
Damien didn’t respond. He simply shot her one last cutting look before walking past them without a word.
“He’s weird,” Gilles muttered.
“He’s terrifying,” Jacqueline corrected under her breath.
She didn’t know why he unsettled her the way he did. There was something about him something cold and distant that made her skin prickle.
“Come on. We’ll be late for class,” Gilles said, and she nodded.
They ended up heading in the same direction as Damien anyway he shared the same class.
Jacqueline ignored him the entire time. Not because she was frightened. Absolutely not. But he already looked irritated, and she wanted him to believe she was done with her antics. Let him relax. Let him think she’d backed off.
That would make it sweeter.
Later, Fanny had already drifted toward the cafeteria while Jacqueline and Gilles walked together down the hallway. She stopped abruptly.
“When’s your practice?” she asked.
Gilles arched a brow. “Since when are you interested in my games? Last time I checked, you didn’t even know the ‘g’ in game.”
She rolled her eyes. “Damien’s playing today, right?”
His eyes narrowed further. “So?”
A slow grin spread across her face. “I have a plan.”
Gilles groaned immediately. “Please don’t drag me into whatever criminal activity you’re plotting.”
Too late.
She grabbed his wrist and hauled him toward the male changing room.
They stopped at the corner. She nudged him. “Go check if it’s empty.”
He glared but went in. After a quick scan, he leaned out. “Clear.”
She rushed inside and immediately smacked his arm. “Lower your voice, idiot!”
“Everyone’s at the cafeteria,” he muttered dryly. “Unless ghosts are changing for practice, we’re alone.”
Jacqueline ignored him and began scanning the lockers.
“Why are you just standing there? Help me find his locker!” she snapped.
Gilles sighed dramatically but joined her search. “Here.”
She hurried over and tried the handle.
Locked.
“It’s locked,” she grumbled.
“Would you care to share your brilliant scheme?” he asked suspiciously.
Instead of answering, she reached into her bag and pulled out a small packet.
An itching powder.
Gilles’ eyes widened. “You’re evil.”
He shook his head, but there was a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. He remembered all too well the last time she’d used that devilish trick how she’d slipped the same powder into his clothes before practice. He’d spent the entire session trying not to claw his own skin off in front of the team. The coach’s furious lecture afterward had been torture enough.
“Look who’s talking,” she shot back with a wink.
She began fiddling with the locker, trying random combinations.
“His jersey number’s seven,” Gilles offered casually, leaning back against another locker.
“So?” she muttered, focused.
“His uniform’s not in there. It’s hanging behind you with the others.”
She turned.
And there it was. Number 10.
A wicked grin curved her lips. “Thank you, Gilly.”
“Don’t call me that,” he grumbled as he moved toward the door to keep watch.
Jacqueline approached the hanging uniform and ran her fingers lightly over the fabric.
Then she got to work.
Carefully. Thoroughly.
She sprinkled the powder all over the inside of his shirt and gear, making sure it was evenly spread.
Satisfied, she stepped back and admired her handiwork.
She poked Gilles in the shoulder to signal she was done.
He shrieked in surprise and spun around, glaring. “You scared the hell out of me!”
She stuck her tongue out at him and they slipped out of the changing room unnoticed.
In the cafeteria, they grabbed their food and joined the others, who were eyeing them suspiciously.
“Where were you two?” Laurent asked.
“If I didn’t know you better, I’d assume you were doing something indecent,” Thérèse teased.
Both Jacqueline and Gilles made identical disgusted faces. Jacqueline swatted Thérèse lightly on the head.
Fanny giggled softly.
Gilles stiffened at the sound for the briefest moment so subtle it might’ve gone unnoticed.
Except Jacqueline noticed.
She smirked at him slowly, and he coughed awkwardly, looking away.
“Let’s skip the last two classes and watch practice,” Jacqueline announced suddenly.
Fanny gasped in horror. “Absolutely not.” For her, skipping two classes was equivalent to donating vital organs.
Thérèse grinned in approval. Laurent looked indifferent but didn’t object.
And just like that, they ditched their classes and headed to the field.
They took seats in the stands. Fanny had stayed behind, of course. So it was just Jacqueline, Thérèse, and Laurent.
Her eyes immediately searched for number ten.
She found him.
Damien looked massive in his uniform broad shoulders padded, frame intimidating. Like some unstoppable machine carved out of muscle.
She waited.
Any second now.
He would start itching. Squirming. Scratching like crazy.
But he didn’t.
He moved across the field like a beast, tossing players aside effortlessly. Powerful. Focused. Untouchable.
There wasn’t a single twitch of discomfort.
Her smile slowly faded.
The powder wasn’t affecting him.
Practice ended. The players dispersed.
Jacqueline stood in the parking lot afterward, waiting for Mr. Loïc to pick her up.
That was when she saw him.
Damien emerged from the building, now changed. Leather jacket. Black shirt. Black pants. Black boots.
Dark. Controlled. Intimidating.
He noticed her.
Stopped.
And then without hesitation he changed direction.
He was walking toward her.
No.
Not walking.
Stalking.
Every step deliberate, heavy with quiet menace.
Intimidation radiated off him like heat.
Uh oh.