Page 3 of Gap Control

Except I remembered how he'd leaned in. How he'd smelled—clean and fresh. How he hadn't rushed away.

I hadn't wanted to let go.

And now… people had noticed.

A lot of people.

They were the kind who zoomed in on photos, looked for hand placement, and analyzed facial expressions.

I dropped my phone on the coffee table and pulled a throw pillow over my face.

This would blow over.

It had to because if it didn't, people might start thinking I was serious. I'd built a whole career on not being taken too seriously. That way, if they laughed, it was on my terms.

By tomorrow, someone else would say something dumb in a post-game interview, a fight would break out in the next game,or Lambert would post another gym thirst trap and give the fans something new to lose their minds over.

The following morning, I was almost to the door of the Colisée, our home arena, when I heard heels behind me, clacking on the asphalt.

That was the first sign I was in trouble—nobody at the arena wore heels unless they were there to ask questions you didn't want to answer, particularly on a practice day.

"TJ! Quick second?"

Jennifer Walsh. Local reporter. Pop culture blogger. Unholy combination of caffeine and journalistic tenacity.

I slowed, but only because my mom raised me polite, and my gear bag weighed about as much as a medium-sized bear.

"Morning, Jen. If this is about my skincare routine, I can't legally share trade secrets."

She didn't laugh—another bad sign.

"That photo the team posted last night—of you and Ryker?"

I reached for the door handle.

"What about it?"

"It's going viral. Fans are speculating. Some are thinking it's a relationship soft launch."

"Soft what?"

"You know. Quiet announcement. Low-key romantic reveal. You and Ryker… intimate."

"It was a hug."

"A hug that makes us all a little envious."

I turned. "Jen, it was a post-win moment. We were excited. There were feelings. It's not a story."

"But the fans—"

And that's when I said it.

That's when I opened my dumb mouth and let the words fall out, hoping to end the conversation with one well-timed joke.

"Yeah," I said, flashing her my best nothing-to-see-here smile. "We're totally dating. He's gonna make an honest man out of me."

Silence.

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