Page 54 of Goalie's Obsession

“I shouldn’t be,” she murmurs. “It’s just—it’s been a long time since I stayed somewhere like this.”

I watch her face shift. Not quite a frown. Not quite nostalgia either.

“I lived like this, you know,” she says quietly. “Marble everything. Caviar snacks. Staff who pretended not to listen but heardeverything.” Her fingers drift over the rim of a crystal glass in the mini-kitchen. “You think it’s glamorous until you realize nothing in your home is reallyyours.”

I don’t say anything.

Not yet.

I just listen as she moves to the window, gazing out over the city as the sun dips below the skyline. Her silhouette glows like poured honey, all soft curves and quiet temptation.

And fuck me if I’m not picturing those curves under my hands, under my mouth again, under me—right there against that glass.

“I left because I couldn’t breathe in that world anymore,” she says, drawing me back in with her delicate softness. “But now… it’s like I’m right back in it. The cameras. The image. The money. The people who smile at you while calculating your worth.”

She exhales, arms tightening around herself.

“And everything with Ethan. Him being back and watching him struggle through… whatever he’s struggling with. It just makes it worse. Like I’m being dragged into a life I already escaped from, only now I don’t know how to help him or protect myself.”

And shit—she’s right.

Ethandidtry to say something back at my place in that late night drunker tirade. He hinted at trouble with his company, investors, the pressure of holding everything together.

But I was too wrapped up in his threats, too distracted by the way he spit Lucy’s name like it burned him, to hear the rest.

I didn’taskwhat was really going on.

Didn’t even try.

Lucy’s voice cracks, just a little. “And I don’t know if all of that makes me a hypocrite… or just exhausted.”

Still leaning on the wall, I let the silence sit a moment before I push off and cross the room.

“I don’t think it makes you either,” I say, heading for the mini bar. “I think it makes you someone who knows what fake looks like—and wants something real instead.”

I open the fridge, dig around for something halfway drinkable.

And bingo.

Espresso martinis in chilled glass bottles, fancy-ass labels and everything.

I hold one up. “Can I tempt you with a taste of overcompensation and light caffeine addiction?”

She turns as I manage to turn that frown in the tiniest hint of a smile. “I mean… if I’m already living a lie, might as well drink like it too.”

I grab two glasses and pour, passing hers over.

She curls her fingers around the stem, clinks her glass to mine. “To overcompensating.”

“To honesty in the most dishonest room service suite in LA.”

We drink and finally… take a breath.

It’s strong. Sweet. Smooth.

Lucy makes a face and pulls the glass from those amazingly plump pink lips of hers. “Okay. I hate how good that is.”

“Right?” I nod, tipping my glass toward her. “It’s dessert, alcohol, and denial all in one cup.”

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