Page 17 of Don't Let Me Go (Don't Let Me 2)

His gaze narrows, and he mutters, “All right. Good. ‘Cause I don’t work with dandies. If you’re gonna be here, you’re gonna see shit. Broken bones. Bloody mouths. And a few naked men. I’m not gonna say something to the team or ask them to act differently ‘round here just because we hired a girl. The locker room is their safe space. I’d prefer to keep it that way without making them bend over backward for the new intern. We clear?”

I nod and clear my throat. “Crystal.”

“Good. Now, most of the players are good guys, but if you ever feel unsafe or any of that shit, reach out to me. Sanderson and I already talked about it. Bringing a girl into the locker room can be a sticky situation, but we’re trying to be progressive. As long as you aren’t stupid, we want you here, and if the guys give you any trouble, you can talk to us.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Good. Also, I’m not your babysitter. I expect you to be here when I tell you and to follow orders when I give them.”

“I can do that.”

“Figured.” He winks then checks the time on his watch. “Shit. I lost track of time. I have a phone call I have to take, and until you finish the HIPAA training, you can’t be included.” He glances at the head coach’s closed door and frowns. “You can shadow Sanderson as soon as he’s finished in his office with your brother. Once I’m done with the call, I’ll come find ya, and we’ll go through some massage techniques on one of the players in my office. Sanderson should be done any minute. Just hang out in here. We’ll introduce you to the team as soon as they’re done cleaning up.”

Practice ended about ten minutes ago, before I was led into the training facility, so I haven’t seen any of the players yet. I can hear the showers running, though, along with their deep voices. Part of me wants to ask if Russ really thinks it’s a good idea to leave me alone in the locker room when the entire team is showering less than thirty feet away. But he already asked if I’m comfortable being here, and if I bring up the showering tidbit, it’ll prove the opposite.

I can’t let that happen.

“Sure thing. I’ll just wait here.” I rock back on my heels, hooking my thumbs into the back pockets of my dark jeans and wait, though I have no idea what I’m waiting for.

“Good,” he returns. “I’ll be back in ten.”

He heads down the hall, disappearing through the steam billowing from the shower area as he passes it while leaving me completely and utterly alone.

Great.

Fidgeting with the lanyard around my neck, I peruse the black billboard showcasing the hockey alumni again and search for any familiar names.

Barely a minute passes when a bunch of boisterous male voices echoes behind me. Fisting my sweaty palms on the bottom of my T-shirt, I try not to freak the hell out and remind myself to breathe.

Apparently, they’re done with their showers.

I squeeze my eyes shut even though I’m not facing anyone and prepare for the inevitable.

Please don’t be naked.

6

BLAKELY

The hair along the back of my neck stands at full attention since, you know, I’m standing in the men’s locker room where a few players are possibly––probably––naked. And they have no idea I’m here. Or at least, not yet. I count down from ten, curious to see how long it takes until I’m spotted. But I don’t turn around. I won’t. Not until they have a chance to notice a girl’s in the locker room and realize they need to cover their junk. Or at least, hopefully, they’ll realize they need to cover their junk. Honestly, hockey players are known for being hit in the head, so who knows if they’ll put two and two together. But a girl can hope, can’t she?

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

“You lost, beautiful?” a low voice asks, the rest of their chatter ceasing.

Well, would ya look at this? Apparently, I’ve been spotted.

Sucking in my cheeks until they’re hollow, I turn around, steel my shoulders, and smile, making sure my line of sight is angled toward the ceiling instead of anyone’s nether regions. When I catch a glimpse of fluffy white towels wrapped around their waists, I breathe out a sigh of relief. There are three of them. And even though they’re covered from hip to calf, their massive builds are still on full display as their attention drifts down my body.

They don’t even have the decency to hide their curiosity. Nope. They’re checking me out openly and without an ounce of shame. Can’t say I’m surprised.

“Gentlemen,” I greet them. “And no, I’m not lost.”

I’ve watched enough games to recognize each and every one of them. Quin Graves. One of the goaltenders on the roster. A little hot-tempered but good at protecting the net. Winston Depp. Defenseman. A little weak in the skating department but pretty freaking awesome at stealing the puck. And a new guy. Austin, I think? Greg Austin? He hasn’t had any time on the ice yet, but he played well in high school. Sanderson was smart to recruit him.

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