Page 50 of Dirty As Puck
If I go forward with the scandal narrative I was employed for, then I destroy the trust he’s given me and disrespect the private world he’s built. But if I protect him, my credibility, my career, the job Marcus depends on me to deliver, it would all slip out of my fingers.
I close my eyes for a moment, the images of Kai’s genuine smiles and quiet acts of kindness burning behind my lids. Every instinct in me says this isn’t just about a story anymore. It’s about loyalty, integrity, and the undeniable attraction I feel toward him, this man who is so completely misrepresented in the world’s eyes.
When I open my eyes again and stare at the photo pinned to the screen, I see Kai kneeling beside a child, arm protectively around her shoulders. The weight of the choice settles over me like a stone. I know the stakes, the consequences, and yet… I can’t shake the truth I’ve uncovered.
For some reason, I can’t betray him.
18
The night air is cool against my skin as I step out of the facility, my gear bag hanging over my shoulder. Practice ran late, the kind of grind Coach likes to throw at us before an upcoming game and the parking lot is nearly empty now, just a few players heading to their cars, exhaust clouds curling into the dark.
I spot her before she sees me.
Rochelle leans against her car, phone in hand, hair loose around her shoulders instead of knotted tight like it usually is after a long day.
There’s something different in the way she carries herself tonight. She’s not holding a notebook like it’s a weapon, no sharp angle to her shoulders like she’s preparing for a fight.
Instead, she looks calm, and probably tired. She seems deep in thought too. Seeing her like this unsettles me more than her usual fire ever does.
I slow my steps, scanning the lot for an excuse to keep walking, but my feet carry me closer anyway. Part of me expects the usual reception. A pointed question, a cold statement disguised as professionalism but when she looks up, her expression doesn’t have the usual bite. Her eyes find mine, and they linger there. For a moment, neither of us says anything.
“Late practice?” she asks finally, her voice lower than usual. It’s not sharp or challenging.
“Part of the job,” I reply, dropping my bag by the end of my truck. “What about you? I thought the vultures cleared out hours ago.”
Her mouth twitches like she wants to snap back, but instead she just shrugs. “Figured I’d get some work done.”
I study her face in the dim light spilling from the overhead lamp. There’s a quiet edge to her tonight, a shift I can’t name. Suspicion prickles in my skin. Did she find something, dig up another scandalous story about me or is this just another one of her games?
“You seem different,” I say before I can stop myself.
She arches her brow. “Different?”
“You’re not out for my blood,” I murmur, stepping closer. Close enough to smell the faint citrus of her shampoo, to see the shadow of a smile tug at her lips.
“Maybe I’m just tired of fighting with you,” she says, and it comes out pointed.
The tension between us isn’t the same kind that usually sparks whenever we’re this close. This isn’t the heat of an argument waiting to happen, it’s quieter and heavier, with a pull that settles low in my chest.
I know I should grab my keys, get in the truck, and drive home before I start reading too much into the way her eyes are still lingering on mine.
But I don’t.
Instead, I lean one arm on the truck bed and let my voice drop, just enough to match the current running between us.
“Careful, Winters. You keep showing me this side of you, and I might start thinking you don’t hate me after all.”
Her lips part, and I’m expecting a smart mouthed response, but she stays quiet.
Her eyes travel from my eyes to my lips and back to my eyes again. I catch a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes before she looks away, the corner of her mouth curving faintly.
The garage feels suddenly too quiet. A car hums past in the distance, its headlights sliding over the concrete pillars before vanishing.
“So tell me,” she says finally, her voice lower now. “Was it hard? Losing him?”
The question hangs there, heavier than it has any right to be. My brows furrow in confusion as I try to understand what she’s talking about.
I blink. “What?”
