Page 37 of Misconducts & Temptation

What if Keaton were looking for me? What if, by some twist of fate, he saw something in me that no one else did? A small smile touched my lips as I imagined it—Keaton's intense blue eyes locking onto mine across a crowded room, his guarded expression softening as he approached.

"Elodie," he'd say, his voice low and warm. "I've been looking for you."

I shook my head again, opening my eyes to the harsh fluorescent lights above. It was a fantasy, nothing more. But even so, that small smile lingered on my face as I pushed away from the wall and moved to prepare the next load of laundry.

Reality was waiting outside this room, but for now, in this brief stolen moment, anything seemed possible.

I gathered my supplies and headed toward the men’s locker room, pushing the cart in front of me. The wheels squeaked slightly on the polished floor, echoing in the quiet hallway. As I approached the door, I hesitated for a moment before knocking firmly.

"Hello? Locker room attendant," I called out, my voice carrying through the thick wood.

Silence greeted me. I waited a few seconds before knocking again, louder this time.

"Is anyone in there? I'm coming in," I announced, giving them one last chance to respond.

Still nothing. I sighed and pushed the door open, stepping into the cool, dimly lit space. The familiar smell of sweat and faint traces of cologne hit me immediately. The room was empty, save for the rows of lockers standing like silent sentinels.

I let out a small breath of relief and started my routine. The first task was always collecting any stray items left behind. I scanned the benches and floors, picking up a few discarded water bottles and some crumpled-up papers.

As I moved further into the locker room, the air seemed to grow heavier, the quiet almost oppressive. It was rare to find the men’s locker room completely empty—usually, there were at least a couple of players hanging around after practice or a game.

I paused in front of Keaton’s locker. It stood out among the others, not because it was different but because of who it belonged to. I shook my head, trying to dispel thoughts of him as I continued my work.

Reaching into my cart, I grabbed a fresh stack of towels and began replacing the used ones in each locker. The repetitive motions were almost soothing, giving me something to focus on other than my swirling thoughts.

I worked quickly and efficiently, wanting to get through this task without any interruptions. Each towel neatly folded and placed with precision—a small act of control in an otherwise chaotic life.

Finally, with all the towels replaced, and the room tidied up, I moved to the laundry bins in the corner. They were nearly full, overflowing with sweaty uniforms and damp towels from previous games and practices. Wrinkling my nose slightly at the smell, I started transferring them into my cart for their journey to the industrial washers.

At that moment, the door burst open and Keaton himself walked in, looking disheveled and slightly out of place. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, and his hair was a wild mess, as if he’d just rolled out of bed. The sight of him was almost comical—like some disheveled demon had somehow ended up at Crestwood Academy.

“... wasn't fucking her, Derek,” he said, his voice sharp and irritated. “I had her try on the mask and everything. I thought you were supposed to be good at this.”

Keaton didn’t even notice me standing there, half-hidden behind my cart of dirty laundry. My heart pounded in my chest, and I decided it was probably best if I kept it that way. Slowly, carefully, I tried to make my way toward the exit without drawing any attention.

Just as I thought I was in the clear, the corner of my cart caught on a locker. The metallic clang echoed through the room.

“Shit,” I whispered under my breath.

There was a pause—a moment of silence that seemed to stretch on forever.

“I’ll call you back,” Keaton said, his tone now flat and uninterested. He turned toward me, his piercing blue eyes locking onto mine. “Well, well, well. Look at you.”

He smirked, taking a step closer. My pulse quickened as I stood frozen in place, unable to look away from his intense gaze.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice low and curious.

I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice. The weight of his attention felt both terrifying and exhilarating all at once. If only I was slick enough to figure out what I was going to say.

Chapter 12

Keaton

Ileaned against the lockers, watching her fumble with the cleaning supplies. At first glance, there was nothing remarkable about her. Just another scholarship kid in that hideous uniform. But something kept pulling my gaze back to her. Her hair fell in loose waves, a few strands escaping her messy ponytail. She moved with a quiet determination, ignoring the rank smell of sweat and mildew.

"What's your name?" I asked, my voice cutting through the silence.

"Um, Elodie," she replied, not looking up from her task.

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