Leila
I stand outside the locker room for a full minute before I convince myself to actually go through with this. My hands are shaking, and I don’t know if it’s from anger or nerves or the fact I haven’t slept for more than a few hours a night since Saturday night.
It’s been four days of hiding out at Abigail’s aunt’s place, ignoring their texts and pretending like my entire world didn’t implode in front of a packed arena. Four days replaying the moment over and over again, when Knox body checked my brother into the glass without his helmet and I realized exactly who the three masked strangers I’d been texting, and fucking, were.
Jagger, Knox, and Riven.
My brothers’ rivals.
I push through the door before I can talk myself out of it. The locker room smells of sweat and hockey gear. Several players are still getting dressed, and they freeze when they see me.
“Boys,” I yell, “if you have your cocks out, I suggest you put them away.”
There’s a scramble of movement as guys grab for towels and turn away. I hear someone swear under their breath.
“Where are they?” I demand, scanning the room.
Tyler, the forward who questioned me during my first lesson, points toward the back corner where three lockers sit empty next to each other. “They’re, uh, still in the showers.”
I march past the other players, ignoring their stares and whispers. The shower area is separated by a half wall, where I can hear their voices.
“She changed our names in the group chat,” Jagger is saying. “To asshole one, two, and three.”
“At least we know she’s reading the messages,” Knox replies with a sigh.
“Reading them and ignoring them,” Riven points out.
I round the corner and see all three of them there, water rolling down their bodies. Knox has his back to me, Jagger is running his hands through his wet hair, and Riven is standing under the spray with his eyes closed.
They’re all naked. My brain short-circuits for about half a second before anger takes over.
“Get dressed,” I snap. “Now.”
All three of them spin around, and the looks on their faces would be funny if I weren’t so fucking livid. Jagger’s eyes go wide. Knox’s mouth falls open, while Riven just stares at me like he cannot believe it’s really me.
“Leila,” Knox says, but I hold up my hand.
“I said, get dressed. I’m not having this conversation while you’re all standing there with your dicks out.”
They move fast, shutting off the water, then grabbing towels and wrapping them around their waists. Water drips down their chests, and I force myself to focus on their faces instead of their bodies, even though my brain keeps reminding me exactly what those bodies feel like.
“How did you get in here?” Riven asks.
“I walked through the door. It’s not exactly rocket science.” I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly aware that I’m wearing the same clothes I changed into four days ago—oversized sweats and one of Abigail’s hoodies. My hair is in a messy bun, and I probably look like a raccoon.
“We’ve been trying to text you,” Jagger says, taking a step toward me.
“I know, I got your messages. All three hundred of them.”
“Then why didn’t you answer?” Knox asks, though I really think he knows the answer already.
“Because I needed time to think!” The words explode out of me. “Because I needed to process the fact that the three guys I’ve been”—I wave my hand in the air, searching for the right words—“whatever the hell we’ve been doing, are the same three guys who play for my brothers’ rival team. The same guys I see on campus who have been lying to me for weeks!”
“We weren’t lying,” Riven says quietly.
“Bullshit!” I snap. “You let me think you were someone else, but you knew exactly who I was the entire time. That’s lying by omission, which is still lying!”
“We were going to tell you,” Knox insists. “After the game, we were going to tell you everything.”
