Page 31 of On the Edge of Scandal

“What are you doing here?”

Perfectly fair question, which is why I ask my own ridiculous question. “What areyoudoing here?”

“It’s, uh, my room.”

I suppose that’s technically true, but, “Haven’t you been staying with your family?”

She shrugs. “Yeah, but they were driving me up a wall. Figured I’d have a better shot of keeping my focus if I stayed here with everyone else.”

“Okay.”

Still, I’m standing in this doorway, and things are bumbling over awkward and heading straight for mortifying. What the hell is wrong with me?

“Coach?”

“Yeah.”

Nguyen is looking at me like I’ve lost my goddamn mind, and she’s not so far from the truth. It’s possible my brain’s wandered off because there is no other excuse as to why I’m failing so utterly to come up with a reasonable explanation for why I’m here. “What are you doing here?”

Her eyes have narrowed, and she’s speaking slowly, because clearly I am not comprehending the most basic of sentences.

“I was . . .”Panicking and feeling like a dirty old pervert so I was seeking my entirely inappropriate lover to tell me everything is okay?When I put it like that, it doesn’t sound so good.

“Looking for Bronwyn?” she prompts.

Do I say yes? I mean, clearly I wasn’t looking for Nguyen since I was surprised she was here, but what’s my excuse for wanting to see Bronwyn? “Yes?”

If slapping my forehead with my palm wouldn’t be such a dead giveaway, I’d do it right now. Or turn and bang my head up against the wall. I swear I’m not usually this stupid. If I were, there’s no way I would’ve graduated from college, or high school for that matter. I probably would’ve drowned in a puddle or something.

And now I have to come up with something in the moment of stall I’ve bought myself.

Lucky for me, there’s a noise behind Nguyen, and Bronwyn’s nudging her aside.

“Hey, Coach, what’s up?”

Well there’s a throat punch. Coach? I’ve gotten used to our dual personas, and it doesn’t make me flinch when she calls me Coach at the rink or in the gym or at team meetings or meals. No, that makes all the sense in the world. Nor does it seem to bother her when I call her Perry in all those places. Because of course I do. But here? Standing outside her room, the site of so much sex, so much intimacy? Having her call me Coach makes my stomach feel like a brawl on the ice.

What I wouldn’t give to hear her mouth breathe those three little letters. In her voice, it sounds more substantial, and, yeah, sexier than it has any right to.

Nguyen gives me one last side-eye for good measure and then retreats back into the suite, but I’m all too aware she’ll still be able to hear what’s being said. While I try to come up with exactly what that might be, I look at Bronwyn. Her eyes are puffy, reddish, and her mouth is tight with strain, the lingering effects of crying.

“What’s the matter? Are you okay? You look—”

“I’m fine.”

That’s a fat fucking lie if I’ve ever heard one. “You’re really not. Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”

Her jaw flexes and she swallows as she holds her body tight, arms crossed over her chest. She’s wearing pajamas, too. “It’s not anything of aprofessionalnature.”

Fuck. She must have heard my conversation with Madeline, which, yes, I get, but . . . My mind’s gone flaily, trying all at once to soothe her, defend myself, seek comfort, and make this into a secret we can share, that might bring us closer. But she can’t be upset about this. “What was I supposed to say? Would you have me—”

Her eyes are hard and cold as the ice that makes up half our lives as she raises her voice. “Yeah, my hip’s fine. I’ve been following the trainer’s instructions, don’t worry about it. I’ll be tip-top for the game tomorrow. Thanks for checking, though, Coach.”

With that last verbal stab to my heart, she shuts the door in my face.

Chapter Seventeen

Bronwyn

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