Page 13 of The Fake Out

The air whooshed out of my lungs, and I dropped my shoulders, confused. “What?”

His face lit up in a full smile. “Crazy, right? I should be excellent at it. I catch balls for a living. But it’s the damnedest thing.” He chuckled deeply, and although I wasn’t following him, the sound rumbled through my stomach. The man was oddly sexy. “Every time I try, I toss those balls up and they just rain on my head like bird shit.”

I scoffed. What did he expect me to say to that? It’s cool that you’re a bad juggler? Or Yeah, I hate being dusted by bird droppings?

“Well, I’m just gonna zoom over to the shower.”

I set my paintbrush down and turned. “Didn’t you just shower?”

According to Chris, the guys always hit the showers after a game. It was why they took so long to get to the team room.

“Nah, locker room showers are typically just a quick rinse-and-go so I don’t stink.” He waved his hand in front of his nose. “Between the dirt and sweat”—lips quirked on one side, he made a clicking sound—“it’s no bueno.”

I huffed a laugh. “I grew up with Chris. I get it.”

His eyes twinkled as he full-on laughed. “Yeah, I knew for sure Avery loved him when she ended up in the closet with him after the game but pre-shower.”

A shudder ran through me. Those were details about my brother I had no interest in.

“Anyway, this is my wind-down shower. So…”He held his arms out on either side of him and took off, making a motor noise.

For several seconds, I stared at the empty space he’d left behind. Was he pretending to be a plane? Whatever he was doing, he’d left me all kinds of off-kilter.

Finally, I flicked the music back on and focused on my painting again. I’d only just gotten back into the zone when a loud pounding interrupted me.

I growled and tossed my brush down. I swore if a neighbor was here to complain about my music, I might chew them out. It had been a long day already, and I didn’t have time for idiocy.

I yanked the door open to a guy in a gray polo, a pair of shorts, and the brightest blue Revs socks I’d ever seen.

“Where is Mr. Damiano?” he asked.

Great, a fan. I’d dealt with enough of them in my life, so I’d gotten pretty good at scaring them off quickly.

“Not here.” I crossed my arms and arched a brow, making sure to don that mask Jake had mistaken for resting bitch face.

“Someone must be,” he said, craning his neck and peering into the apartment, “because, clearly, you haven’t showered.”

My shoulders tightened in irritation. “Excuse me?” This guy was something. Yeah, I may be dotted in paint, and I was sporting leggings and T-shirt, but I wasn’t disgusting.

He pushed past me and moved down the hall.

“Listen, asshole,” I said, but my words were drowned out as he beat on Emerson’s bathroom door.

“Shut the water off now,” the guy barked, not looking back at me.

An instant later, the water stopped, but that didn’t stop the fucker from pounding on the door. He only dropped his hand when it swung open and Emerson appeared.

My mouth went dry at the sight of him. My roommate had a white towel wrapped around his waist, and there were streams of water running down his broad shoulders, silver chain around his neck, over his tan chest, and settling into the divots of his abs. Without my permission, my eyes followed the drops as they continued their journey.

My perusal came to an abrupt halt, though, when he cleared his throat. Sucking in a breath, I forced my eyes to his face, finding him smiling sweetly at me. I ground my teeth. Dammit. He’d caught me ogling him. He flicked his hair back, flinging water on the dude who was hovering too close to the doorjamb.

“You’re causing a flood downstairs,” the dick growled.

Emerson blinked in confusion, and his smile fell. He opened his mouth, but before he could get a word out, the fuckface continued his tirade.

“It doesn’t take a genius to know to shut off the water when there is a leak.”

In the next heartbeat, the light left Emerson’s eyes. Fuck, the look was all wrong on him. Sad Emerson shouldn’t exist.

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