Page 95 of Puck Prince

I maintain my thin smile while the alarms in my head blare. “I should get back. If Owen is presenting the check, he really should have my support.”

I reach again for the handle, but before I can pull it open, Miles slaps his hand on the door, barring it shut again. “You’re such a good girlfriend.” He’s towering over me. I can smell the whiskey on his breath. “That’s what you are, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry?” I don’t understand the question. But now that I know this escape route is off-limits, I let go and back away.

“His girlfriend—is that what you are? I mean, how long have you even known each other?”

“Long enough.”

I take another few steps back as he matches me move for move.

“Long enough to be exclusive?” He bobs his head back and forth, considering his own question. “I’m not sure about that. It seems new to me.”

With that, my jaw tightens, and I stand straighter. “I don’t think it’s any of your business. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

I turn to stride towards the side exit I know is just at the end of the hall, but just as I’m about to bolt away, Miles grabs my wrist. In a second, he yanks me back and pins me to the wall by my arms.

“Except that I’d like to make it my business.”

The false calm in his voice is gone, replaced with something sharp and menacing.

I’ve heard it before. InSpencer.

Between one blink and the next, I’m back in that empty training room, blinking into the dim lights. I feel the hands on my biceps like iron cuffs, impossible to break or run from. I can hear the echo of my own empty screams.

Tears well in my eyes, and I should scream now. I should make noise, get someone’s attention.

But I am too scared to utter a peep.

“You know, Callie, I think this is all a game to you. And it’s a very dangerous game.”

For the love of God, Callie—scream.

Suddenly, the ballroom door opens. Miles jumps back several feet and wipes his hands on his pants as Uncle Randy stops inthe doorway, looking between us. Lance is doing the same thing from over his shoulder.

“Callie?” my uncle asks. “What’s going?—?”

But I don’t let him finish the question before pushing past all of them. “Excuse me, please.” I manage to mumble before slipping back into the ballroom. “Owen needs me.”

29

OWEN

For someone who is used to having arena lights beating down on me, people waving my jersey in the stands, and my name ricocheting off the rafters, I don’t love being the center of attention.

But this is for charity, so I suck it up. I hold the giant check. I stand where they tell me and smile when they ask.

The whole time, though, I’m scanning the crowd.

I haven’t seen Callie since I took the stage and it bothers me more than it should. If I had to guess, it’s because of the kiss. Or the near-kiss, I guess, since Lance is the worst fucking wingman on the planet.

God, I wanted to kiss her.

But if what they say about timing being everything is true… well, Callie and I are impeccable at picking the wrong moment. It’s like a fucked-up game ofRed Light, Green Light, but it’s mostly red lights and the rare green light will electrocute you.

One red light is waiting for me just off stage. I want to smack Lance over the head with this stupid cardboard check, but the PR team probably wouldn’t appreciate me undercutting our charity work with violence.

Still, I’m prepared to dub Lance the world’s most effective cockblock when I step off stage and notice the look on his face.

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