Page 6 of Beautiful Collide

I’m not the kind of guy who believes in fate, but right now, I’m wondering if maybe it believes in me. If this girl didn’t justcatch me staring at her ass, I’d probably ask her out right this second. But unfortunately, she seems unimpressed by me.

In fact, she props her hand on her hip, her eyebrows narrowed.

Fine. Someone doesn’t appreciate me gawking at her. Duly noted.

I lean a hip against the shelf and kick one foot over the other. “What brings you to. . .” I spin a finger around, gesturing to the closet. “This part of town?”

Her eyes flare for a moment before she moves fast, grabbing the nearest object off the shelf, which happens to be a wrench. She waves it around as if it explains everything, frowning once she realizes what she grabbed.

She recovers fast, though, and pulls her shoulders back with fake confidence. “None of your business.”

“Wow. Touchy, touchy.” I don’t bother hiding my amused grin. “Let me guess—you’re an over-the-top fangirl who broke in disguised as maintenance staff.”

She’s not even in the maintenance uniform I spotted when I entered the stadium, but the need to fuck with her is strong. I’m not sure why. I’ve never been like this with anyone else.

“The opposite, actually. I’m hiding in here to avoid people like you.”

“People like me?” I bring a hand to my chest, mock-offended. “You wound me. FYI, I’m a great person.”

“Oh, really?” She raises a brow. “Because staring at a stranger’s ass totally screams ‘upstanding citizen.’”

“Would it scream ‘upstanding citizen’ if the ass didn’t belong to a stranger?”

“What are you doing here, anyway? You can’t be here.” Her tone catches me off guard. She’s openly hostile, something I’m not used to.

It’s my turn to pop up an eyebrow. “And you can?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Of course I can. I practically work for the team.”

I almost expect her to say duh. Like everyone should know who she is. Which makes me wonder why I don’t.

I narrow my eyes. Then it hits me. I know exactly who she is—Molly Sinclair, Dane Sinclair’s little sister. I’ve seen her before, and every time, she looks just as beautiful as she does today.

“And you are?” She tilts her head slightly as she looks me up and down. “Do you even work here?”

“Technically, I work here.”

She raises a brow. “Technically?”

“Fine. I play here,” I correct. “For someone who practically works for the team, shouldn’t you know?”

“Ah, a hockey player,” she says as if it explains everything.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugs, shoving the wrench onto the nearest shelf. “Hockey players are basically toddlers with money. Let me guess,” she adds, throwing my earlier words back at me. “You were wandering looking for snacks?”

“Snacks?” I laugh. “I’ll have you know that, in addition to being a great guy, I’m responsible, too. I brought all my snacks with me.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I came in because I thought someone was—” I stop myself, realizing how ridiculous it would sound if I admitted I thought she was a teammate jerking off. “Never mind,” I finish lamely.

A sudden smile takes over her face, and holy shit, I really wish we’d met on better terms. Specifically, terms that don’t include me getting caught staring at her very, very nice ass.

“No.” She smacks her forehead. “You heard a noise and thought you’d walk in on something R-rated, didn’t you?”

“Absolutely not,” I say quickly. Too quickly.

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