Page 55 of Honeysuckle
I chewed the inside of my lip, desperate to feel anything other than the possessive warmth that simmered just beneath my skin.
“You should be in the locker room,” Dean’s voice sounded from behind me. “People are going to start flooding in here and the team may have come around…”
“But the crowd hasn’t.” I inhaled slowly, swallowing the rest of my complaints as I looked over my shoulder at him.
“You’re still a Lorette to them; at least until after today.”
He looked good–too good. His blond curls had been cut a little shorter and his cheeks were flushed with color. He was in a dark purple dress shirt that barely fit the rolling curves of his strong arms and a pair of matching dress pants that hugged tightly to his generous thighs.
It was a stark contrast to the white dress shirt and jeans I wore at every game. I felt stupid and underdressed.
“You look good,” he said, as if he could read my mind. “Your knot is horrible, though.” He pointed to my black tie and stepped forward. “Can I?” He checked before touching me.
I watched the muscles in his forearms tighten as he raised his hands and tried to push down the feelings of panic as he approached. I nodded and turned my face away to focus on the running length of the hallway to my left.
His hands worked at the tie, undoing it and straightening it out before retying it and pushing it up against my throat.
“Too tight?” He asked, his warm breath fanning over my jaw.
I turned slowly to look down at the tie, his hands still on the fabric and so close to my skin, and I swallowed. I tilted my chin up and our eyes met in a strangled, silent moment as he waited for a verbal answer I was too distracted to give.
Flecks of dark green danced around in the lighter shades of his eyes beneath his stupidly long eyelashes, and the panic in my chest dissipated.
“It’s fine,” I gritted out, and he took the cue to step back. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, shifting on his feet.
“You shouldn’t have done that.” I pointed to the donation bin.
“I didn’t.” He shrugged. "It was Susanna. S he wanted to give back to the community; help the people struggling in Harbor.”
The secretary?
“This about Mark? Because I said he wasn’t your charity case—that he didn’t need your magnets? “How about you just own up to the guilt when you say something privileged. You can’t fix everything, Dean. You’re acting like an idiot.” I growled. Of course, he had taken that argument and flipped it on its head to give back in a way that mattered.I hated him.
“It was Susanna,” he repeated. I could see that he was lying; his stupid smile gave him away at all times, but I let it go.Why did I let it go?
“Come on,” he said quickly as the sounds of people laughing and talking echoed through the open doors of the stadium.
I followed him down the tunnel to the inner staff entrance, holding my breath the entire time, until we were safely behind the big blue doors. The tunnels were quiet as we took the stairs down to the locker rooms. I had walked these halls as the enemy before, but never as a Hornet, and it was instantly a different atmosphere.
The grey bricks looked warmer; the Hornets logos were brighter, and the concrete floors didn’t echo in the same way they had when we were stomping down them in angry silence.
“You okay?” Dean stopped outside the Hornets’ locker room. The massive hornet painted perfectly on the side-by-side navy doors mocked me.
“Yeah, Tuck,” I snapped, unable to hold back. “Stop babying me.” I shoved past him into the locker room and immediately wished I hadn’t. Every player in the room stopped what they were doing and went quiet. “Right, who’s ready to get their asses kicked?” I joked.
“Go get changed before they decide to eat you in a pre-game ritual,” Cael said as he wandered up from his locker with his jersey undone and his ballpants hanging loose over his hips.
He stayed and said something to Dean as I walked over to my new locker. Reality hit me seeing the Hornets’ jersey hanging there withnewnavy cleats and clean pressed ball pants. Reading Logan across the jersey in bright yellow lettering was weird. I reached out and brushed my fingers against it as I set my bag at my feet. The chaos of the locker room returned, the excitement of my entrance wearing off and leaving me in a buzzing hive of unintelligible noise.
I didn’t know if it was on purpose or not, but Dean’s locker was right beside mine, and the sound of his bag hitting the wood made me flinch.
“Sorry,” he apologized, stripping his shirt without a second thought.
“Was this you?” I pointed to the cleats and he shook his head.
“El said your old cleats were bad luck. She found a pair of extras in the equipment locker; they should fit.” Dean continued to get ready, taking off his pants before glancing quickly at me.
