Page 12 of Beautiful Collide

“I have issues with closed spaces . . .”

“You’re claustrophobic?”

“Not really. It’s a bit more than that, but I don’t want to get into that right now. If I think about it, I tend to spiral.”

“Tell me something else . . . Molly.”

The way he says my name sends chills down my spine.

Easy, girl. You’re trapped in a closet with a stranger. This is not the time or place to get all hot and bothered.

Wait. My mouth drops open. I’m trapped in a closet, and my libido is working?

This is new to me.

I’ve never felt anything but complete fear when locked in enclosed spaces.

I look over at Hudson.

What about you is different?

Sure, he’s stupidly cute. With gorgeous dirty-blond hair that looks brown at certain angles, crystal-blue eyes you can get lost in, and a killer body that would make me feel tiny under it.

But I’ve met many hot men.

Hell, most of the team regularly graces the center spreads ofSports Illustrated.

And still, I have never,everthought of anything but suffocating behind a closed door in a small space.

He’s the first person who has made me feel like maybe the walls aren’t here to trap me.

Maybe—justmaybe—they’re here to protect me.

3

Hudson

I don’t knowhow long we sit there.

I didn’t bring my watch, and if I check my phone, it will just piss me off that I’m going to be late for warm-ups. It’s the twenty-first century, and engineers still haven’t managed to douse the earth with proper cell service.

Instead, I concentrate on helping Molly.

I’m about to speak when a creaking sound echoes in the small space, followed by a crash as the metal door bangs into the wall.

I jump to my feet and spin to see an older woman in a stadium uniform standing in the doorway, mouth open as she meets my gaze.

“My God, thank fuck,” I say before turning to look at Molly.

“I’m fine.” She shoos me away with a wave of her hands. “Go.”

I don’t think twice. Too much time has passed, and I’m sure Coach will be pissed.

I bolt from the small space, adrenaline pumping through my veins. Warm-ups should be starting soon. There’s no question.This is bad. Real bad. Not only am I still in my street clothes, but if everyone else is dressed and ready, I won’t be able to warm up with them.

I dash toward the locker room, but I don’t even make it inside before I realize how truly fucked I am. Half the team is already walking in the opposite direction toward the rink. The air crackles with tension as a few of my new teammates spare me disapproving glances and shake their heads.

Some look amused. Others annoyed. A few—like Dane fucking Sinclair—look ready to murder me on the spot.

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