Page 117 of Puck Prince

“Then one night, he got injured at a game. I spent hours helping him heal. It was a lot of one-on-one time, a lot of pain and vulnerability. Eventually, when he recovered, he asked if I’d let him buy me dinner. Just as a thank you,” she adds with a snort and an eyeroll. “I said yes. I figured if he could let his walls down with me while I saw him at his worst, I could lower my guard a little, too. After all, it’s just sushi and saki right?”

“Sure.” It all sounds normal enough, but I’m holding my breath.

“After the date, which went amazing, he asked if he could kiss me. Again, I said yes. And the night ended there. I felt like he was truly different. Like, maybe it would be okay if we dated. In my head, as long as we didn’t keep it a secret, we weren’t breaking any rules and there was no scandal.”

“Makes sense.”

But Callie hugs her knees against her chest, and I can tell the story is about to take a turn.

“Well, the next time I saw him, I told him that if we were going to keep seeing each other, we needed to make it known to HR and the staff. He didn’t like that idea and asked if we could wait. So we waited. And waited. And then one day, while I was cleaning up my office after a game, he came in and closed the door. It was obvious what he wanted, but I wasn’t ready.”

Her eyes are brimming with tears.

Meanwhile, my mind is brimming with anger. I know where this is going.

“He got… aggressive.” She pauses, debating whether to say more. “Then he told me the whole thing was just a bet with the team about who could get me to sleep with them first.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I explode. I’ve been trying not to lose my shit, but I am kind of losing my shit. I get up and pace the room.

“Nope,” she sniffles. “So I left. My career was destroyed. The media was getting their hands on it, and I knew I had to get away and start over. I’ve avoided him since, but?—”

I stop pacing, my eyes on the ground. I feel like I already know the answer to the next question, but I’m going to ask it anyway.

“But you saw him tonight, at Pour Boys. That’s why you were so afraid? That’s why you ran out and why you wanted to stay the night here? Because he’s stalking you?”

Callie answers with a meek nod.

I ball my fists. “Who is he?”

“Owen, I don’t want?—”

“Okay, fine. Don’t tell me his name. But which one was he?”

She hesitates.

I give her a hard look.

“He was dancing with Kennedy.”

I rack my brain, trying to better remember what the guy looked like. Unfortunately, I was so enamored by Callie’s body againstmine, drunk on her pheromones, that I didn’t give the guy a second glance.

Fuck.

“Does she know?”

“No.”

“Is she with him now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think she’d go home with him? Do you think he’d come home with her? Here?” I look at the wall that separates my apartment from Kennedy’s, and that fucker better pray he isn’t over there. “Because I will knock that motherfucker into?—”

“Owen.” The crack in her voice stops me. “I don’t know. I just couldn’t be there anymore, and I didn’t feel safe going home and—” Her breath hitches. She’s starting to panic. Maybe starting to cry.

I climb back onto the bed and pull her against me. “I’m sorry. It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m sorry.”

I hold her—that task now the most important thing in the world to me. She sinks into my body.

---