Not charming.
Just there.
I tell myself the same things again.
This was smart.
This was controlled.
This was professional.
It wasn’t reckless.
But it also wasn’t safe.
And as the car pulls away from the arena, I realize something that gives me a small jolt I don’t expect.
I’m looking forward to tomorrow.
Chapter eight
Colby
“Captain Bachelor!”
I don’t even make it off the last step before a hand slaps my shoulder hard enough to jostle my spine.
“Easy,” I say, because it’s either that or a thank you, and none of these guys deserve a thank you for what they’re about to do to me.
Mason barrels into my space grinning like we just won in overtime. “Youwon, Hayes.”
“I did a charity thing,” I say.
“You won on a stage,” Gregory adds, eyes bright, like he’s already compiling stats. “In front of people.”
“I’m aware there were people,” I say.
Dex Miller appears from nowhere with an evil grin. “Don’t undersell it. That was a culturally significant moment. A renaissance. A turning point for romance as a concept.”
“It was a microphone,” I tell him.
“It was aweapon,” Dex says, sweeping an arm toward the hallway as if the crowd is still chanting our names. “And you, my captain, wielded it with the restraint of a monk and the jawline of a Greek statue.”
Someone laughs behind us. Someone whistles.
The second we clear the doors, the noise drops fast. The roar becomes muffled, like a game heard through concrete. Distant music bleeds in, bass thumping somewhere down the corridor. Staff voices overlap with clicking headsets and purposeful walking. It smells like food and those fog machines they use to make everything look cooler than it is.
This should feel like a post-game tunnel.
It doesn’t.
After a game, I’m drained but clean inside. The rules are familiar. Win, lose, talk, shower, move on.
This feels… sideways. Like I did something that should’ve been simple and it somehow left a mark anyway.
“Hayes,” Jonah calls, jogging up with a grin. “Do you sign autographs now? Or only on hearts?”
“Neither,” I say.
