Page 75 of Puck Prince

After my stomach stops retching, I sit down, my back against the cold tile wall.

What just happened?

One thing is for certain: Miles is not who I thought he was. He also seems to know more about me and Owen than he should.

I need to get up and go watch the game—pretend everything is fine. But after that, I can’t bring myself to go anywhere. I tuck my knees against my chest as the moment plays over in my head, laced with memories of the past, a nightmare on endless loop.

I squeeze my eyes shut, tears escaping down my cheeks, and will the images away.

It doesn’t work for a long, long time.

24

OWEN

I don’t know what’s fucking with my head more—the idea that I have a “girlfriend” who comes to my games to cheer me or not being able to find Callie anywhere in the crowd.

I know she was working with several of my teammates before the game. I saw her taping Lance when I passed the training room. I was actually looking to snag some tape myself, but for some reason, after the conversation on the plane, I ducked out and hit up Miriam for help instead.

That’s yet another dilemma fucking with my head.

I hand delivered barf bags to Callie because she looked miserable on the flight—and I felt bad for blowing her off—but that flirting was a bit too realistic. Realistic enough that I almost forgot it was all a ruse.

Until she started asking about Summer and Nicky again.

I actually wanted to just tell her what was going on, but for many reasons, that part of my life that has to stay completely secret.

Their safety depends on it.

Even with my head a mess, we more or less annihilate Colorado’s band of shmucks with little to no effort. It’s so easy that I have lots of time to scan the crowd. But every time I look up, expecting to see Callie, she’s not there.

I start to worry.

After the game, I skip the locker room showers and accompanying athlete’s foot and make my way to the hotel, instead. I’m bunking with Miles, but I beat him there, so the bathroom is all mine.

When I’ve scalded as much of the anxiety out of my muscles and brain as possible, I shut the water off and throw on a pair of jeans and a fitted blue shirt. Miles is lying on the bed when I walk out.

“I’m getting room service. You want anything?” he asks.

“Nah, I think I’m gonna go check out the bar.”

“What’s eating you?”

I just stare at him. This guy has a way of reading people’s minds, I swear to God. It’s eerie. “Nothin’, man. I just figure I might as well check the place out while we’re here. Feeling good about that win, ya know?”

“Absolutely. We were fire tonight. But Callie wasn’t in the stands.”

I rake my hand through my still-damp hair. “Yeah. I’ll probably check on her.”

I say that like I have any idea where she is. Fake boyfriends aren’t privy to that kind of intel.

“Good call, bro. Hopefully she’s alright.”

I don’t know why she wouldn’t be, but I nod and go down to the lobby. I’m doing more wondering than I ought to do. All the time, really… fucking incessantly. Wondering what she’s doing, where she’s going, how she’s feeling. Pretending to hook up with her was supposed to make my life less complicated.

As I round the corner into the restaurant, I stop. The bar is hopping. Every table is taken. Music is playing under the dull roar of conversation.

But that’s not what has me stuck in the doorway.

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