Page 84 of Stick Work

“He’s at practice,” I answer.

A dreamy expression washes over her face. “I still owe him a lasagna.”

Oh God.

“Right,” I mutter, but the mere thought of lasagna makes my stomach lurch. I press a hand against my stomach, trying to steady the nausea, but Sahara doesn’t miss a thing.

She cocks her head, suspicion flickering across her face as Avery steps away to greet another table. I take a sip of my coffee, using the moment to collect myself, to prepare for the inevitable interrogation. I open my mouth, ready to spill the details of my own personal rom-com-gone-wrong?—

Then my stomach twists violently.

Oh, no.

Bile punches into my throat, and I barely manage to jump up before the nausea overtakes me. I rush to the bathroom, making it just in time to empty my stomach. Humiliation washes over me as I slump against the cool tile floor, my forehead pressing against my arm. Perfect. Just perfect.

The bathroom door creaks open, and I groan, wanting the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

“Taylor?” Sahara’s voice is soft but laced with worry.

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Yeah. I think I have the flu.”

“Let me help you.”

I force myself to my feet, wobbling slightly as I make my way to the sink. Cool water rushes over my hands, and I rinse my mouth, avoiding my reflection. But I can’t avoid the way Sahara’s watching me in the mirror—her gaze sharp, assessing.

“We need to talk,” she says, her voice steady.

I sigh, knowing she’s right. I lift my hand, the ring glinting under the fluorescent lights. “Yeah. I know. Big problem.”

But Sahara doesn’t look at the ring.

Nope. She looks at me.

My skin prickles at the way her expression shifts, the way the color drains from her face, her eyes widening with something I don’t understand.

“I don’t think that’s your biggest problem, Taylor.”

Her words send a shiver down my spine. And for the first time, I wonder if the nausea, the exhaustion, the sluggishness…

…isn’t the flu at all.

24

Elias

It was a brutal practice. My head wasn’t in it, my body felt sluggish, and every shot I took was off. Not surprising, really—not when my mind was somewhere else entirely. After a quick shower, I step into the locker room, where the guys are still joking around, their laughter bouncing off the walls. I barely register it. What I do register is the way Kalen is looking at me—curious, maybe even suspicious. And why wouldn’t he be? I’ve been avoiding him all day.

“Elias,” he says just as I slam my locker shut, trying to shake the tension coiling in my chest. Before I can answer, Roman walks in. My gaze flicks to him instinctively, my pulse stuttering. Does he know? Has Rip told him yet? Would he even care? He had his hands full chasing after some bride all night, so I doubt he had time to sit down for a chat about my… situation.

Roman walks past, head down, lost in thought, and my shoulders loosen slightly. No confrontation. Not yet.

I turn back to Kalen, my best friend. My former roommate. The guy who gave me a place to crash when I needed it most. And how did I repay him? By sleeping with his sister. And then—oh yeah—marrying her.

He’s going to think this is hilarious, right?

Then why the hell are you too chicken-shit to tell him?

“Sahara texted,” Kalen says, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts. “She and Taylor are hanging out at the house. Stop by for a coffee. You and Taylor can tell us all about Vegas.”

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