The blackout curtains are pulled, so I really have no idea what time it is, but then I glance at the clock.
7:35am.
Fuck.
My perusal of Vox’s beauty is cut short when my phone starts ringing again.
I slide out from under his arm with no time to process how good he feels next to me before grabbing my phone from my pants on the floor.
The name on the screen makes me want to throw up.
Grey.
I can’tnotanswer it. If I slept through the night and the clock is right, then I’m supposed to be at a coaches’ meeting intwenty-five minutes…but I’m still forty minutes away from Ricochet…with my star athlete naked in my fucking bed.
Calming my voice as best I can, I move to the opposite side of the room, hoping distance from Vox will help bring clarity, and slide my finger across the screen, answering the call, thankful Vox hasn’t stirred.
“Grey, hi.”
“Morning, Connor. Do you happen to know where Vox is? Most of the team is already grabbing breakfast and hitting the road for the break, but no one’s seen him.”
Double fuck. Vox was supposed to meet his friends at that stupid club last night.
“Uh, no. I haven’t seen him,” I lie.
“His phone’s off, so I can’t see his location,” Grey says casually, causing all the color to drain from my face.
“You track his location?”
Grey chuckles. “Don’t make it sound so sinister. I’ve been the only family Vox has had since his grandmother died, remember? I worried about him a lot when she passed and wanted to know where he was because he’s not the type to call for help.”
“Yeah, but that wasyearsago,” I point out.
Grey just laughs again. “Well, now I consider it protecting my investment.”
My mind flashes to the bullshit I’d read in Vox’s contract about not being able to have other sponsors without Patterson’s approval, not being able to register individually for events, but having to go through his sponsor for all registrations, not being allowed any social media accounts outside of the one run by Patterson, and the list goes on.
“Does he know?” I ask, unable to let it go.
But Grey doesn’t answer that. Instead, he changes thesubject. “I’ll keep looking around. We’ll see you in a few for the meeting.”
“Oh, um, I’m going to be a little late. I’m really sorry,” I add hastily. A sick churning in my gut threatens to make me dry heave as I use Sam as an excuse for my poor decisions. “Something came up, and I had to run down the mountain.”
“Just get here whenever you can, and I’ll catch you up to speed. Oh, Connor, before I forget, do you have plans over the break?”
The abrupt change in subject catches me totally off guard, and I don’t have time to process where he’s going with this question or make up an excuse.
“Uh, not really,” I answer.
“Come to my place. My wife loves to entertain, and we’re having a big birthday dinner for my daughter. Vox joins us as well; it’s a nice time.”
Panic rises.How the fuck am I supposed to control myself around Vox in front of Grey? It sounds like pure torture.But I also can’t say no because something tells me this is about more than making me feel included…this is a test.
“That would be great. Thanks, Grey.”
“Wonderful. Well, I’ll see you soon, and if you hear from Vox, just have him call me, would ya?”
“Sure thing.”
