Page 19 of Puck Prince

“You are going to make me late for my first day of work. I don’t appreciate?—”

“And you’ve managed to destroy my reputation before you’ve even clocked in. Ask me how much I appreciatethat.”

A laugh bubbles out from her throat. “You don’t need me to run your reputation into the ground. You’ve done a fine job all on your own.”

It’s not often I’m caught speechless. But this defiant little girl marching ontomyturf, ruiningmylife, is doing the trick. “I— You’re— You cannot be fucking serious.”

“I’m deadlyserious. I think we’re done here.” She punches the button again.

But I am not done. I am far from done. I grab her by the arm once more and yank her down the hall.

“Excuse you!” she cries out. “What do you think you are doing?”

I don’t answer. I simply march to the entrance of the locker room, punch in the code, and pull her inside. The floors are checkered in the team colors—burnt orange and black. Around the perimeter are separate, private rooms—one for each player.

“Wow, names in lights above the doors and everything.” Callie isn’t impressed like most of the girls who’ve had the privilege of being snuck in here. Her words are drenched in sarcasm. “So what? When you get tired of stroking your own ego, you just come in here and let the other boys do it for you?”

“I swear to fucking God, woman—” I am about to explode when I hear someone punching in the code to the door.

“Uh oh,” Callie mumbles. “After that hissy fit you just threw on national TV, getting caught in the locker room with a girl is gonna look real bad.”

“Shut up.” I tug her into my private room and close the door. We stand in darkness as Lachlan and Kason shuffle around, talking about last night.

I don’t want them—or anyone—to know I’m in here.

It isn’t until they leave that I remember to breathe. Or that I realize I have my hand over Callie’s mouth.

Her full lips are pressed against my palm. The room is dark, but I can make out the shape of her—her shadow blending with mine, her body brushing against my thigh. The strawberry scent of her hair fills the room, and I feel almost drunk.

It’s that scent that takes me back. One hit and I can feel her smooth skin under my hands. I remember the way she tasted, the way she cried out and tightened around me before we both collapsed on the damp sheets.

Snap out of it, O!I’m still wearing the wrong pants for those memories.Focus!

I flip on the lights—a frame of bright, round bulbs around the mirror—and both of us take a step back from one another. Callie’s eyes scan the closet-sized room—the marble sink, the leather chair, my jersey framed on the wall.

I waste no time in resuming the inquisition. “You tricked me.”

“Tricked you?” she echoes. “Youtrickedme!”

“You knew who I was, and you wanted to fuck with me. You wanted to smear my name even further across all the sports pages. As if the shit I’ve got going on isn’t enough.”

“What are you even talking about?” She looks at me like I’m crazy, but I see through her wide-eyed trickery now. She won’t fool me again.

“Let me guess. Coach hired you, didn't he?”

“Uh, yeah, totally.” She slows her words down to make me feel stupid. “My uncle hired me to hang out on my cousin’s balcony without pants until I got one of his players to fuck me and lend me his shorts. Gee, nothing gets past you, Einstein.”

I get right in her face, close enough that I know she can taste my words on her lips. “Cut the bullshit, Callie. Admit it. Admit he hired you to fuck with me so that the press would get a hold of it and blow it out of proportion.”

“Why in the name of all that is good and holy in this world would he do that?” she snaps back. “He’s annoyed with you enough as it is. Whatever you did, it’s all he bitches about. Why would he hire me to make it worse? What would that even accomplish?”

I hate to admit it, but it tracks. Naming me the starting center for the Scythes is the best damn choice Coach Coleman has made in years. Muddying my reputation would do nothing but royally fuck him in the ass. My guess is that someone else, someone with a real motive, set this up.

“Whatever your little scheme is, just know it’s not going to work.”

“You’re insane.” Her face is flushed. She looks like she’s going to be sick. As she takes a seat in the chair, I’m almost worried abouther. Then I think about how hard I fought for this career, and my worry shifts back where it belongs: myself. “You interrupted me that night, remember? Or did you huff enough of your own jockstrap to wipe your memory of what really happened?Youpounded onmywall.Youcoaxed me ontoyourbalcony.”

“Because you locked yourself out!” I nearly shout. “What was I supposed to do, let you freeze to death in your g-string? I might be a dick, but I’m not a complete asshole.”

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