Page 44 of Puck Struck
Fine. But this ends tonight. For good.
Three dots appear and then disappear. Seconds later, his final message makes my gut wrench.
We'll see about that, Connor.
I hurl the phone onto my bed like it's on fire. I can’t stop my hands from trembling. I need air. Space. Time to think and plan.
This is bad. So, so bad. If word gets out that I was an escort, that I slept with men for money, my life will crumble around me. It’ll be worse than it was when I was trying to survive. At least then I still had my dignity.
The fallout will be devastating. Logan will run, not that I’d blame him. It’ll destroy the team’s trust in me. Team management might try to buy me out of my contract because of the bad press and blowback it would cause. Sponsors would drop me in a hot fucking second. I’d be washed up, alone, and hopeless. The future I dreamed for myself would go up in flames and I’d burn in the center of the inferno.
I throw on a hoodie and sweats, grab my keys, and stalk out the door. The cool air slaps me as I step outside. The streets nearly empty at this hour. Too quiet. There’s no noise at all except the screaming inside of my head. I wander aimlessly,ending up at a diner with flickering neon signs and worn and torn red plastic booths.
I slide into a booth in the back with a piece of black duct tape slapped over the cushion, order coffee I don't want, and stare out the window at the empty street.
James found me. James knows about Logan. And tomorrow I have to face him alone.
I don't realize I'm doodling again until the waitress refills my cup. I glance down to see Logan's face taking shape on the napkin beneath my pen. The strong jaw. Those piercing eyes that see too much.
I crumple it in my fist. It’s better to forget him now, exactly the way he’s going to forget about me if this gets out.
I stand outside the hotel bar that night, staring at the entrance like it’s the gateway to Hell. Which it might well be. And James is the fucking Devil.
The Columbia Hotel isn't really fancy. It’s a pretty nondescript place with dim lights, a place where I know my identity would be safe. But I stand there, suffocating as I check my watch. I’m exactly fifteen minutes late, on purpose.
It’s my own personal rebellion against the control James thinks he has over me.
My phone buzzes with an incoming text.
I see you standing out there. Come inside. I don't bite.
My stomach twists. He's watching me.
I square my shoulders, push open the door, and step inside the bar. It’s mostly empty, just a couple of business people hunched over laptops and a few locals nursing beers. And there, in a darkened corner booth, is James Harmon.
A chill slithers through my insides when our eyes tanglefrom across the space. He stands up from the table, an expectant look on his face.
Three years haven't changed him much. Still tall, immaculately dressed in a suit worth more than my first car. Still wearing that smile that never reaches his cold gray eyes. He raises his glass in greeting as I approach, my steps cautious, calf muscles tensing as I edge closer.
"Connor," he says, my old name like fingernails on a blackboard. "How nice of you to join me."
“It’s not like you gave me a choice.” I slide into the booth, keeping as much distance between us as possible. "Let's get this over with. What do you want?"
He signals the bartender for another drink. "Still so direct. No small talk? No 'how have you been, James?'"
"I don't care how you've been."
"Ouch." He puts a hand to his chest in mock hurt. "After everything we shared?"
"We didn't share anything," I snap. "You were a client. That's it."
James laughs softly. "Is that what you tell yourself?" He leans forward. "You were my favorite, you know. The most convincing. I felt like you enjoyed it."
My fingers curl into fists under the table, nails digging into my palms. "I was a good actor."
"Were you?" He takes a sip of his drink, watching me over the rim of his glass. "Are you still acting now,Cam? With your teammates? Your new...friends?"
The way he says it makes my skin crawl. "You've been following me."
