Page 167 of Offside Devil

I give Carson ten minutes to clear out of the locker room before I shuffle in there to grab my shit. As I’m leaving, my phone buzzes in my bag. It’s a text from Hanna.

That guy called looking for Mira again. I would’ve forwarded it to you, but he was calling from an unknown number.

I stare down at the message, trying to convince myself that the sense of wrongness swirling in my gut is all in my head.

I want everything to be fine.

The last few weeks have felt like crossing the finish line at the end of a long race. I’ve been living in the kind of happy ending people strive for their whole lives. After years of pulling myself together and cleaning myself up, here’s my reward.

Here. Rightfuckinghere. So close I can taste it, feel it, touch it, smell it.

Now, I have to face the possibility that it’s all been one big lie.

When I pick up my phone and punch in the number I’ve been staring at for three days, I’m not doing it because I want to bring my world crashing down.

I’m doing it because I lived too many years of my life in a lie, and I won’t do it anymore.

Not even for Mira.

“Hello?” a deep voice answers.

“I got your number from a friend.” I glance down at Owen’s scribbled handwriting. He didn’t give me the P.I.’s name, but I don’t think I need it. “I have a job for you.”

67

MIRA

I pace barefoot across the floor and hug Zane’s jersey around myself.

Partly because I’m cold. Being naked except for a polyester jersey can have that effect.

But mostly because this jersey with his last name on the back is the closest I’ve been to Zane in days.

He’s always finding a reason to be out of the house—practice, coffee with Owen, dinner with Jace, a run. When he is home, he’s quiet. Distant.

Growing up the way I did means I am always tuned in to how people are feeling. I over-examine every tiny, flickering expression to make sure I’m not about to be backhanded across the room. With the way Zane has been giving me the cold shoulder and tense, fleeting smiles, I feel more in danger than ever.

I check my phone again, but Zane still hasn’t called or texted. After the game they just played, I doubt he’s rushing out to celebrate with the team tonight. I don’t know much about hockey, but I know the Angels were a disaster out there.

Aiden had a cough, so we watched at home. Now, Aiden is asleep, and I’m pacing. Alone. With no pants on.

“This is a stupid idea.” I drop my face in my hands. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“This” being seduction and long-term relationships. Before Zane, my longest relationship was a guy I went on three dates with. I can’t even remember his name now, but I think he was a dentist. Or a dental hygienist. Or I made that up because of the way he licked my teeth every time we kissed. It felt like going in for a cleaning.

I’m about to chuck on my leggings and try to solve this weirdness with Zane like adults. That is, to ignore it until it goes away.

Then the front door finally opens.

I sprint for the bed, arranging myself on top of the comforter like the X-rated version of one of those towel swans in a fancy hotel.

My heart is racing embarrassingly hard when Zane walks down the hallway and pushes the door open.

“Oh.” He stops short when he sees me, his eyes cataloging the scene in front of him. “Hey.”

“Hi.” My voice comes out high-pitched and squeaky. “Sorry about the game.”

“Yeah.”

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