Page 67 of Don't Let Me Go (Don't Let Me 2)

After a brief second, I dip my chin and so does Colt.

“Good,” Coach says. “Let’s go beat the Razors.”

Depp gives a shout, and the team files out of the room, their excitement pushing them forward. But I don’t move. I need a minute. To get my head on straight. To focus. To figure out how I can fix this.

I catch a glimpse of Blake hanging out near Russ’s office as the locker room empties. Her hair is pulled up into a ponytail, wisps of curly red hair framing her face and a massive LAU hoodie practically swallowing her tiny frame whole. The combination reminds me of the girl I used to know. The friend I used to know. Before we grew up and learned what attraction was. Before I saw her as someone more than my best friend’s little sister. Before I tasted her for the first time and realized just how well we fit together or how much I knew I’d crave her for the rest of my life.

I don’t know how much she heard or if she knows she’s the reason behind the testosterone-filled air, but it doesn’t matter. Because she isn’t running from me. She can’t. At least, not right now. I plan on taking full advantage.

I step aside, giving the last of the players some room to slip past me while throttling the cash in my hand as if it’s offended me. When Blake finally spots me through the sea of players, she glances over her shoulder, but Russ isn’t in sight.

Nah. It’s only me and her.

And she can’t avoid me anymore.

I approach her carefully, well aware of how little time we have to chat but unable to help myself. Besides, I don’t know if she’s planning on avoiding me for the rest of her life or not, and if this last week has been anything to go by, it’s a definite possibility. Might as well take advantage of the opportunity in front of me to talk to her while I have the chance.

“Hey,” I start.

“You should be on the ice.”

“I know. But you’ve been ignoring my texts. I wanted to talk about––”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I think there is,” I argue.

She looks around the empty locker room again and whispers, “I asked you to take something off my hands. You obliged. That’s it.”

“But you left.”

“And why wouldn’t I?” She laughs, though I can see the hurt shining in her gaze. “What else was I supposed to do? We’d both gotten what we wanted, didn’t we? End of story.”

“Not the end of story, Blake.”

“It is for me.”

“Don’t say that,” I growl.

“Look.” She licks her lips, her gaze darting around the space like a baby deer. Like she can’t even look at me. “Whatever guilt you’re holding onto, you can let it go. You don’t owe me anything.”

I ignore the pang in my chest and offer her the money. “Here.”

Her brows furrow as she looks down at the not-so-crisp cash. “What’s this?”

“It’s the money.” I offer it to her again, but she doesn’t take it. She just stares at the bills like it’s a den of venomous snakes ready to strike at any second.

“What money?”

Glancing over my shoulder to make sure we’re still alone, I step closer and drop my voice low. “From the bet.”

Her eyes widen in understanding as she gives me a slow, knowing nod. “Aw, the virgin money. Gotcha.”

Ignoring her sarcasm, I offer it to her again. “Take it.”

“No thanks.”

“Blake…”

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