Page 5 of Beautiful Collide

I step inside the room, pulling the door closed at the same time.

The second it shuts behind me, I take a deep breath and survey my surroundings.

Just as I thought. A storage closet.

There’s shit everywhere.

Great location, Wilde.

Couldn’t have picked a better spot to gather your thoughts.

Just as I’m about to turn around and find a bathroom or something, I hear a sound.

I narrow my eyes, trying to figure out where it came from. Then I hear it. A grunt. A deep sigh follows the grunt. I’m not alone in this storage closet.

Fucking fantastic.

It would be just my luck to stumble into a new teammate jerking off on my first day here. Nothing screams great first impression like trauma bonding over some perv’s idea of a game-day warm-up routine.

I shut my eyes, debating whether I’m curious enough to investigate. To see or not to see? My curiosity wins out, and I weave around a shelf, spotting someone in the far corner, wedged between stacks of discarded hockey sticks and cleaning supplies.

She’s bent over at the waist.

And just like that, the nerves are gone.

My hands don’t shake.

My mind stops racing.

My heart rate, however, picks up for an entirely different reason.

Holy shit, this girl has an ass. It’s probably not the most polite reaction, yet I can’t help but stop where I’m standing and stare.

Since my timing obviously sucks, she chooses that exact moment to look up.

“Seriously? Creeper.”

“What?” I raise my hands in the air, feigning innocence. “Can’t hate a guy for looking.”

“Actually, I can.” She straightens up, then spins to face me, her arms crossed.

If I thought her ass was nice, it’s got nothing on her face. For a second, I forget how to breathe.

If this is how I go out—trapped in a closet before I even play my first pro game—I can’t complain.

She’s stunning in a way that doesn’t feel real. Like someone plucked her straight out of my dreams and dropped her into my lap.

She looks young, probably around my age, early twenties, but there’s something timeless about her.

Long brown hair spills over her shoulders, catching the light. Her skin glows, flawless and warm, and her lips. . .

God, her lips.

They are full and slightly parted like she’s about to say something clever.

But her eyes hit me hardest. Seafoam green, bright and sharp, like they’re daring me to get too close. They lock on to mine, and I swear she sees right through me, peeling back every layer with one glance.

The world narrows to just her. Us.

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