All it takes is a quick Google search of the real estate company’s name, city, and realtor. Eventually I find it in their “sold” listings. There on the screen is an address.
Leo’saddress.
My car keys are in my hand in a heartbeat. Tires rolling along gravel in the next. The half-hour drive passes by in a blur.
Streetlights move by in my periphery, and my mind spins with possibilities. I’m not sure what I’ll do once I’m there. I need an in. Any kind of in.
The muscles along my shoulders are burning with wound-up tension by the time I park a couple houses down from his place. It’s in the expensive part of the city where someone could fit four of my two-bedroom apartment onto a single plot of land.
I grip the steering wheel, glaring at the two-story property. Four wooden pillars hold up the roof of the porch, matching the door of the lower garage. None of the lights are on in the house, other than the garden lamps illuminating the gray slating and white-trimmed windows.
The plans I found online suggest his bedroom would be the one with the balcony, facing the backyard, with two more bedrooms and an office upstairs, and another spare bedroom below.
It’s nine at night, and I know for a fact he doesn’t have a game on. I never thought to question whether he lives with anyone. His sister lives in a swanky apartment in the city center, and I doubt his multimillionaire father would be living in his son’s house.
What if some of his teammates are living with him? Or if he has a girl over? My stomach sours.
I stay in the comfort of my car, staring at the building like it might give me some insight on how the hell I’m going to approach this.
An hour passes before a convertible pulls up the driveway. I quickly lower myself into my seat just enough to still see who it is.
My lungs stall when I finally see Leo in the flesh. The photos don’t do him justice. Not at all. He’s even more breathtaking in real life. His shoulders seem broader beneath his button-up shirt, jawline sharper. There’s an air of authority around him that can’t be captured on camera. It’s as if I’ve been sucked into his orbit where nothing matters but him.
I stop breathing altogether when a woman steps out of the driver’s side. My fingers shake, mind bombarding me with images of the brunette girl in the photo. But then I see her wavy black hair, bright-red tights, and vintage heels; everything starts to click into place.
Sabrina Duval. Upcoming stylist. Online personality. Leo’s younger sister.
Someone who has nothing to do with the attacks against me.
It looks like I’ve found my in.
CHAPTER THREE
Leo
Sweat drips down my back as I glare at the mat. I pushed myself too hard today. It’s going to bite me in the ass sooner rather than later. My fucking right knee has already gotten a piece of paper to write down its grievances, and it’s still deciding whether it wants to be a permanent problem.
Still, against my better judgment, I force my body to go through the motion of the stretch lest I want to fuck up my back too.
My options are either to be benched for the rest of the season, get traded, or get myself a prison sentence. The decision was harder than I cared to admit. It was a close call.
On the one hand, playing for the Serpents means I’m living near my sister and anyone else I want within arm’s reach. On the other, I’ll finally get rid of the violent energy pulsing in my veins.
My glare whips to the guy beside me when he laughs too loudly. Doyle’s fucking complicit as well, and yet he—like everyother asshole on my so-called team—has gone about his week like nothing has happened.
It’s a brutal reminder that they aren’t my friends. They’re not on my side. They’ll always be on fucking Jack’s.
I block out the voices of my teammates that carry through the gym. Without trying, I can pick out every person’s string of conversation and list each one of the guilty charges I’ve sentenced them with.
My jaw ticks as I recall every word they’ve ever said.
I breathe hard through the fire raging along my muscles as I dip further into the stretch than I’ve ever gone before. My limbs tremble, but I keep holding the position. The pain does fuck all to ground me, but it’s enough of a distraction to forget about their voices and the crimes they’ve committed in my eyes.
“Your form’s shit.”
“Fuck off.” I don’t dare loosen up more than is enough to cast a scathing glare at Mitchell.
He squirts water into his mouth, ignoring the rampage I’m bound to be set upon. “Get Colby to look at your knee.”
