Over their shoulders, Wes glares. But he doesn’t move. Only watches. After that first time he kissed me, he told me I was his. More warning than promise. Now he’s letting his teammates touch me. Grope me. His way of confirming I’m not his anymore. He doesn’t care who touches me or where. He doesn’t care what they force me to do. Right in front of him. I don’t matter any more to him than a nameless puck bunny now.
