Page 168 of Offside Devil

Then he just… walks to the bathroom.

I hike the jersey up a little higher on my thighs. Maybe Zane didn’t understand what I was doing.

Or, maybe, he knows you’re a lying liar who lies and he doesn’t even want to look at you.

I swat away my internal monologue. The unending silence of the last week has given it plenty of space to take on a life of its own.

I didn’t lie to Zane. I told him the truth about my dad.

Sure, I lied to Taylor four years ago about being raised by a single mother, and I had to maintain that lie at dinner the other night, which Zane definitely heard. And never asked about. And I never brought up because I’m a scaredy cat.

But that’s not a big deal, right?

I drop my face in my hands again. God, this is such a mess.

Then the bathroom door opens, and I snap back to attention. “Did you go anywhere after the game?” I ask.

Zane pads to the closet, dragging his t-shirt over his head with one hand. His back muscles pinch and flex as he tosses it into the hamper. He’s better at seduction than I am and he isn’t even trying.

“No.”

“You’re just later than normal, that’s all.” I curl one knee towards my chest. “I was waiting up for you.”

He doesn’t even look at me. “I took a long shower.”

“You could’ve taken a shower here.” I pause, waiting for some kind of reaction that never comes. “With me.”

He turns towards me, but still won’t look at me. His jaw flexes in the low light. “I’m tired, Mira.”

And I’m not wearing anything under this jersey!

For the sake of my dignity and my sanity, I need Zane to look at me.

I slip out of the bed and walk up behind him. He tenses when my hands slide down the exposed skin of his back.

He smells like wintergreen. Breathing him in feels like running in the cold. My lungs tingle.

“Then come lie down.” I drag my fingers over his shoulder blade and across his bicep until I’m standing in front of him. “I miss you.”

I didn’t mean to let that slip, but standing so close to Zane is bringing the inconvenient truth out of me. He’s right here, but he feels a million miles away. I want to grab his face and force him to look at me. I want to throw my arms around his neck and cling to him until he can’t ignore me.

His eyes are a dark, stormy blue. They focus somewhere over my head. “I had a shitty night, and I just want it to be over. Maybe you should sleep in your room. I’m bad company.”

“That’s okay,” I say. “I don’t mind. If you had a bad night, I want to be here to… I don’t know. To talk to. Or to make it better. Or—” I grab the hem of his jersey and yank it over my head. Exposed skin worked for him, why not me? “—to wait naked in your bed so we can have frustrated sex.”

Finally, he looks at me.

Stripping naked feels like a cheap trick, but the desire pulsing in his eyes is better than nothing.

“Frustrated sex?” he grits out, his eyes dragging down every exposed inch of me.

“It’s a little-known variation of angry sex.” I step closer, our hips brushing. I press my palm to his chest. “Whatever you’re feeling, you can take it out on me.”

I reach for the growing bulge in his sweats, but Zane snatches my wrist. His grip is crushing. “This is a bad idea, Mira.”

“I’m not scared of you. Whatever you’re feeling right now—” I meet his eyes and slowly lift my other hand to his cheek. “—I can take it.”

The moment stretches taut. Too many emotions to decipher flicker through Zane’s eyes. I don't know what he's going to do until, all at once, he grabs my other hand and pins me to the wall.

---