“Shame.” He shakes his head as I run my fingers through my tousled hair, trying to compose myself. “I do like the just-fucked look.”
I smack his foot. “Shut up. We have to act normal, like nothing happened.”
His eyes darken, a dangerous sea of blue.
“So you’re admitting something happened.”
I swallow hard, my chest tight. “Yes.”
Because of course something happened.
This is no longer a one-off thing. We broke the rules I made less than twenty-four hours ago.
Shattered them.
Rapidly moved the relationship from a reckless secret to a conscious choice.
A wave of panic swoops through me, clawing at my chest. One photo, one rumor, one team group chat. That’s all it takes.
But now’s not the time to sit here and analyze the situation.
“It’s late. We’ll talk about this later. Get some sleep.”
I slide on my shoes, grab my bag. I’m reaching for the door when Bennett comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. He leans down and kisses me, slipping his tongue into my mouth. The elevator dings down the hall and he pulls away.
“Sweet dreams, Sunshine.”
“Night, Bennett.”
Cracking the door open, he leans out and surveys both directions.
“All clear,” he whispers, swatting my ass. “See you tomorrow.”
I slip into the quiet hall and hustle toward the elevator, my heart racing a mile a minute. With a shuddery breath, I smash the button and wait.
It’s almost midnight now, well past curfew. No players should be roaming this late at night.
Ding.
In the empty hallway, the elevator chime sounds like a freaking siren. The gold doors open to an empty car and I rush inside, pressing the button for the floor all of management is staying on. I lean against the mirrored wall, fiddle with my necklace.
Almost in the clear.
The doors slide closed and I exhale the breath I’m holding.
Safe.
Ding.
The doors pop open again and I jump. Dr. Sparks steps in, a steaming paper cup of tea in one hand and an iPad in the other. She’s in a white button-down, dark jeans, and a cardigan, her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Her team lanyard’s dangling around her neck—she must be coming from an emergency session with a player.
“Ms. Prince.” She tips her head in my direction, peering at me over the dark rims of her glasses.
“Dr. Sparks.” My voice catches and I almost choke on her name. Blood roars in my ears as I stare straight ahead at my reflection in the mirror. Bright pink cheeks, the skin on my neck and chest mottled, lips swollen, the waves of my hair loose and wild.
I should have taken more time fixing my hair.
Dr. Sparks makes no commentary, her eyes flicking to mine only once.
