Page 17 of The Players We Hate
Beneath the sharp edges and practiced smirk, I looked wrecked. Not from going too far. Not from guilt. From her.
From the way she looked at me—as if I wasn’t just a body, a hookup, a headline, or another forgettable night. She looked at me as though I mattered. As though I was worth something.
She hadn’t seen the player, the stats, the muscle, or the chip on my shoulder. She had seen the man beneath it, trusted him, and given herself to him in ways I hadn’t expected.
And it rattled the hell out of me.
I’d never had that before. Every hookup before her was surface level, just an escape to keep people at arm’s length. Take what I wanted, move on, feel nothing.
But Wren… she let me in. She gave me pieces of herself I never expected, and it hit a part of me I thought was gone.
Now I didn’t know if I should forget it or chase the next time she’ll look at me like that again.
“Morning, sunshine,” Owen said around a mouthful of cereal, tone easy but gaze too sharp to ignore. “Sleep alright?”
I grunted, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. “Sure.”
“You missed a hell of a party.”
I twisted the cap open and took a long drink, avoiding his stare. “Wasn’t in the mood.”
He hopped down from the counter, bare feet hitting the tile with a dull thud. “No?” His tone stayed casual, but an edge sharpened every word. “So… what was that I saw last night?”
My hand stilled mid-drink.
“You’re gonna have to elaborate,” I quipped even though I already knew where this was going.
Owen gave me a smirk, one brow lifted. “Wells Perry’s sister.”
Her name on his lips was a blow to the ribs. I didn’t flinch, but I didn’t confirm it either.
His brows rose. “You gonna play it off like that was nothing? ’Cause I saw you disappear upstairs with her.”
I held his stare for a second, then glanced down at the counter, jaw tight. The silence between us stretched until I finally said, “Not that it’s any of your business, but nothinghappened. And besides, I doubt I’ll ever see her here again. This wasn’t her scene anyway.”
The lie tasted bitter on my tongue.
He was quiet for a beat too long. “Yeah,” he said slowly, dragging the word out like he didn’t believe a damn word. “Sure looked like nothing happened when she came flying out of your room later. You know… freshly fucked.”
My head snapped up, glare sharp. “Don’t talk about her that way. Have some fuckin’ respect.”
He smirked and shrugged. “I’m just saying what I saw.”
My pulse kicked harder in my throat, jaw flexing. “Whatever you think you saw, you’re wrong. Mind your own business and drop it.”
Owen raised both hands in mock surrender but didn’t back off. “Okay, man. Figured I’d ask since, you know… Wells showed up outside the locker room after the game.”
I went still. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know,” he said, too casually. “Thought maybe you were making a statement.”
My spine straightened. “You think I’d use her to get back at him?”
“I think you’ve had reasons to hate the guy,” Owen replied, meeting my eyes. “And I think you’ve done crazier shit for less.”
The accusation burned hotter than it should have. “Wren isn’t part of this. This isn’t some payback.”
“No?” He tilted his head. “Then what’s she part of?”
