Page 9 of The Players We Hate
“You look like you could use a break,” I said, my voice low enough that it didn’t need to compete with the music.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Yeah, well, you keep making assumptions like you know me at all.” Her gaze swept the room, then returned to mine. “Where’s the bathroom in this place?”
I let the corner of my mouth curve. “There’ll be a line for the main one. Mine’s closer.”
She studied me, caught between taking what I was offering as an escape or bracing for a challenge. Her gaze flicked toward the hallway, then back, a spark of curiosity slipping past her guarded expression.
“Unless you’re afraid,” I added, letting the words settle between us.
Her brow lifted slightly. “Lead the way.”
I guided her through the crowd, brushing my hand along the small of her back as we moved. With every step, the noise of the party faded, the chaos thinning into something quieter. The tension between us pulled taut.
When we reached my room, I slipped my key into the lock and pushed the door open, letting it creak on its hinges. She stopped in the doorway, her eyes scanning everything—the old jerseys tacked to the walls, a whiteboard cluttered with film notes and set plays, my gear bag half zipped beneath the window seat.
Her fingers brushed the edge of the doorframe, unwilling to cross whatever invisible line separated the party from here.
“First time in a hockey house?” I asked, voice softer now. Not teasing. Just curious.
She glanced at me over her shoulder. “Something like that.”
She stepped inside slowly, as if the floor might give beneath her. Her footsteps were quiet against the rug, fingers trailing across the top of my desk as she passed. Careful but curious, she moved as though she didn’t quite trust what she’d walked into… yet she wasn’t ready to walk away either.
I closed the door behind us. The latch clicked into place, louder in the quiet than I expected. It sealed the moment and cut off the party altogether.
Now it was just us.
She didn’t say anything for a second. I waited until she turned toward me, her arms folding loosely over her chest. Her breathing was steady, but her eyes gave her away.
“Thanks,” she said, barely above a whisper.
“Don’t mention it.”
And I wouldn’t.
She didn’t flinch when she heard my name, but I saw the quick jump of her pulse when I said hers.
ChapterThree
Wren
Talon’s room was surprisingly neat. I’d half expected chaos, the way Wells always kept his when growing up. Without the staff cleaning up after us, his room would’ve evolved into something you’d find in a lab.
I hesitated near the edge of the room, glancing toward the door off to the right. “Bathroom?”
Talon gave a small nod and gestured with a flick of his hand. “Through there.”
I crossed the room, acutely aware of how quiet it was now. The door clicked shut behind me, muffling everything.
His bathroom was small. There was a navy towel hanging from a hook, and a Rixton U toiletry bag rested zipped on the counter beside a toothbrush and a bottle of cologne. The clean, sharp scent lingered in the air, the same one I caught when I first stepped into his room.
I caught my reflection in the mirror and froze for a beat.
My cheeks were flushed, my eyes too wide. I felt so out of place, especially being in a guy’s room. It was a first for me.
I ran my hands under cold water and pressed them to my face, hoping it would settle the nerves sparking under my skin. The water trickled down my neck, and I gripped the edge of the sink until my breathing evened out.
What am I doing here?
