“What are you doing here?” I snap Thursday night.
He shrugs. “Watching you.”
Well, I knew that, but I didn’t expect him to admit to it outright.
“You’re very talented.” His dimples flash as he sends me his sunniest smile. “And nimble.”
I roll my eyes as I skate away, heading to the changing room.
But I don’t fail to notice that he’s there when I leave the rink, along with the employee closing it up for the night. Cross doesn’t hide his presence, standing mere yards away under a streetlight.
I bristle and set off, sensing his gaze as he accompanies me, remaining several feet away.
Halfway to the dorms, I stomp my foot and turn back, marching straight up to him.
“Why are you following me?”
He doesn’t bother denying it. “Because it’s eleven at night, and you’re tiny, pretty, and alone.”
I don’t know how to begin to process that.
“Well, it’s weird,” I tell him. “You might as well walk with me. Less creepy.”
I blame temporary insanity for saying that.
Cross seems to find me amusing. “The view’s pretty great from the back, but if you insist.”
We walk the rest of the way in silence, my mind on his upcoming game, as it has been for most of the week.
By Saturday evening, I am panicking so much I can’t sit still. And in the blink of an eye, it’s Sunday afternoon.
Part of me wants to take the easy way out. Stay barricaded in my room, ignore the very existence of the game. I’ve been at Rothford U for a year, and I’ve never cared or showed up for any of the Beasts’ games. Why would I start now?
Besides, they’ve always lost. I’ve never been one to pray, but please, please, please, if there is someone listening out there,let them lose again.
Fucking hell, what madness made me accept that bet? Yes, Cross dangled the sort of opportunity I can’t afford to pass up, but I am fairly certain anyone else in my shoes would have had the dignity to laugh and say no thank you regardless. He wouldn’t really expect me to keep my side of the bargain, would he?
I bite my lip, knowing the answer.
Yes, yes, he will absolutely expect it.Demandit.
And to be fair, when I was so certain they’d lose, I planned to smugly demand my reward right after the game.
But Cross couldn’tmake medo anything. That would be illegal. Unethical.
Except the bet wasn’t ethical from the get-go and I still agreed to it.
“Ms. Trueman.” Hearing my name pulls me out of my head.
I blink in surprise at the security guard who steps in as I follow the crowd into the arena.
“Yes?”
I’ve never seen him in my life. Bald and built like a tank, he isn’t the kind of person one would easily forget.
“Right this way, miss,” he tells me, gesturing to the stairs. “You have a reserved seat in the front row.”
I want to ask him how he knows who I am, but that much seems obvious: Cross. One way or another, this is Cross’s doing. So much for sneaking in unnoticed at the back.
