“Fuuuuck,” I hissed. Too much. Too soon.You blew it, Reed. You always fucking do.
I should’ve waited. Should’ve played it cool. But I couldn’t. Not with her. I’d wanted that kiss so bad it drowned out common sense, drowned out every warning bell.
Now, she was walking away, and all I could taste was the truth I didn’t want to admit. She had me. Completely.
I dragged both hands down my face, my chest aching from the weight of what just happened.
I drew a steadying breath. Yeah. Fine. Professional. I’d play her game.
But fuck me, if this didn’t feel like the hardest loss of the tournament. By the end of the tour, Orla Sheehan was going to change her mind, even if it killed me.
Chapter 19
Orla
Washington DC
July
I flew outto Washington on the seventeenth of July with the whole team, Tyler included.
I’d spent a week pretending that kiss never happened, but my body remembered in ways my conscience wished it didn’t. Sometimes, when I passed him a resistance band or steadied his knee during our sessions, my fingers would brush his skin, and the memory of that kiss would play in full colour through my mind.
Every morning, I worked his hamstring, updated his rehab plan, and avoided looking directly at his mouth because every time I did, my lips remembered what they felt like. My whole body did. ?
Every afternoon, I sat through meetings like I didn’t feel the heat of his stare burning into the side of my face. I tried with every scrap of restraint I had, not to let my eyes drift over to him. But every time they did, his were already on mine. Like he knew. Like he was waiting. And the most pathetic part was thatI didn’t want him to stop looking at me. I hated that I loved the attention.
What also didn’t help was that he’d set up camp behind my eyelids at night. The feel of his hand on my jaw. The press of his mouth against mine. All of it haunting me long after I’d left that terrace.
That kiss had short-circuited me in every way I wish it hadn’t. It was pure, inconvenient electricity. I couldn’t think about it without heat sparking low in my belly.
He never brought it up. Never pushed. Just…waited. Which somehow made it worse. That was the killer, the waiting. Like he knew exactly what I was trying to outrun and was perfectly content to let me trip over it myself.
But I’d made the rules. I’d drawn the line. And now I had to live on the wrong side of it. Congratulations to me, the architect of my own misery.
So here I was, in another country, far away from home with no escape.
When Alan said travel and accommodation were covered, I hadn’t realised that meant five-star excess. At least the universe had decided my misery should at least paired with luxury. The hotel was obscene. Marble floors polished until you could see your reflection in them, flower arrangements taller than me, and a concierge who looked like he used to guard the crown jewels. The air smelled of polish and money.
We’d barely landed before we were herded through the lobby and handed sleek keycards. The team scattered, peeling off toward elevators and never ending corridors.
I ended up in the lift with Tyler, Ted, and Ben, one of the physios I’d brought onto the team. Tyler hadn’t said much since the airport, but he didn’t need to open his mouth for me to feel his presence. I could feel him. The weight of him behind me, his black cotton hoodie pulled over his head, heat radiating inthe small space and his woodsmoke aftershave infiltrating my senses. God forbid he realised what standing this close to him did to me.
On the eighth floor, the lift chimed and the doors opened. I stepped out, scanning the ambiently lit corridor. Eight zero five. My room was second on the left.
Tyler followed. He grabbed my suitcase off the trolley like it was nothing, because of course he was being a fucking gentleman, and trailed after me.
He stopped outside my door, glanced at the number, then down at the keycard in his hand. Then back up at the door next to mine. Eight zero six.
Of course.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered under my breath.
He grinned, smug and golden. “Looks like we’re neighbours.”
“Thanks,” I said stiffly, nodding toward my bag. My tone was polite enough not to sting but inside, I was freaking out
I swiped into my room and stepped inside, shutting the door before I could think twice. My back hit the door and I stayed there, breathing hard, hands pressed flat against the wood like I could hold him at arms length with sheer force. I just left him standing there like a golden retriever puppy I’d kicked.
