Peace.
Distance from Noah Walker.
In theory.
After the first day’s warm-up friendly—which ends in a tie that has Coach Dane grumbling all the way back to the motel—I finally peel off from the team after assigning some stretches and handing out a few ice packs.
Then, I head to my room.
My legs are tired.
My brain is fried.
And all I really want is a hot shower and maybe some room service.
I swipe the keycard and push open the door—and stop dead.
Because Noah Walker is already there.
Standing in the middle of my motel room.
Clad in nothing but a towel.
His dark hair is damp and curling across his forehead.
Like he’s just taken a shower.
Like he’s just used my shower.
My brain blanks.
He’s also spreading what appears to be an entire feast of Chinese takeout across the small table near the window.
Containers everywhere.
Fried rice.
Broccoli in some amazing-looking sauce.
Chow fun.
Steamed dumplings.
Sweet and sour something.
Spring rolls.
I stare at him.
He looks up and grins like this is the most normal thing in the world.
“There you are, Love.”
My mouth opens.
Closes.
“W-what are you doing in my room?”
