She stops. Spins. Eyes sharp and furious.
“You don’t get to mark territory.”
I step closer. Not fast. Not aggressive. Just enough to make her feel it.
“I’m not marking.” My voice is low, steady, unavoidable.
“I’m protecting.”
Silence wraps around us. Heavy. Hot. Undeniable.
Her breathing shifts. Barely. But I catch it.
“Tell me," I murmur. "Tell me that kiss meant nothing.”
Her lips part. No sound comes out.
She hates that. Hates giving anything away.
Which tells me everything.
"Good night, Bryce. And good game."
But her hands tremble. Just once. Just enough.
And as she disappears down the hallway, one truth settles in my chest like a warning:
She’s running.
Which means I’m already under her skin.
And that is going to be a problem neither of us can ignore.
Chapter nine
Annabelle
“Absolutely not.”
That is the first thing out of my mouth the second I see the event program.
Harper blinks at me like I just announced penguins are taking over Nashville.
She tilts her head, amused. “Annabelle, sweetheart… you work in PR. Saying ‘absolutely not’ is adorable, but not a real boundary.”
I glare at her. “There is a snowflake, no, snowstorm’s chance in hell I’m letting Bryce Blackhorn hand-feed a baby goat for the public without a media strategy or emotional support team.”
Harper lifts her coffee cup in a mock toast. “You say that like you aren’t the emotional support team.”
My pulse betrays me.
It skips.
Okay… maybeexplodes.
Because even though it’s been three days since the home game and that… wall-kiss-that-should-never-have-happened… I can still feel it.
His mouth. His hands. His stupid confidence.
