When did that become a thing? This urge to greet him with my mouth? Like it's hardwired into me now, automatic, as necessary as oxygen?
"You're late," he says, teeth chattering.
"I'm two minutes late."
"That's still late. I'm freezing my dick off."
"Then let's get inside before it falls off. I have plans for that dick."
He grins, turning toward the door. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."
We walk into the building and the warmth hits me immediately, the heating system working overtime. Devon leads the way down the hallway toward his room, and I follow, my eyes definitely not on his ass.
Except my eyes are absolutely on his ass.
But then, something else catches my attention.
Heads turning.
A girl walking past does a double-take, her eyes widening slightly, and she whispers something to her friend. They both look back at me, giggling.
Two guys at the end of the hall stop talking mid-conversation, staring.
Someone pulls out their phone as badly concealed whispers reach my ears.
"Is that—?"
"Oh my God, it is."
Devon notices too. His shoulders go rigid and he picks up the pace.
I match his speed, more uncomfortable with every person we pass, every stare, every whispered recognition.
Right. Because I'm sticking out like a sore thumb and, worst of all, as far as everyone else is concerned I have absolutely no reason tobe here.
More people are emerging from their rooms now, drawn by the commotion, and suddenly there's a small crowd forming in our wake.
Devon glances back, then at me, eyes wide. "Uh..."
This is getting out of hand fast, and just as the first spark of panic rushes through my system, an idea crystallizes.
I stop walking. Devon stops too, looking at me like I've lost it.
"What are you doing?" he mouths.
I turn around to face the small crowd that's now gathered in the hallway. Maybe twenty people, mostly college-aged, some in pajamas, some clearly just woken up from naps. A few girls are giggling, whispering to each other. One guy is filming on his phone.
"Hey," I say, then clear my throat. "Hi. I'm Ace Jackson. I play for the Chicago Wolves."
More whispers. More phones materializing.
"I know this is weird," I continue, "me being here. But I want to tell you about something important."
Devon's staring at me like I haven't bounced back from my concussion yet. I totally have. I know what I'm doing.
God, I hope I know what I'm doing.
"There's an animal shelter on the south side," I say, addressing the crowd like I'm giving a press conference and not standing in a dorm hallway in my street clothes. "They take in animals that other shelters won't. The old ones, the sick ones, the ones with behavioral issues. They've been doing incredible work for years, but now they're in trouble. And they need your help."
