Page 18 of Faking the Goal

Once I'm finished and have washed my hands, we go back to trying to free ourselves. What follows is five straight minutes of pulling, pushing, twisting the knob, swearing at the lock, and taking turns throwing our weight against the door until we're both sweaty and increasingly offended that a piece of cheap wood is somehow winning.

"This fucking door has more stamina than I do," I mutter, brushing my hair away from my damp forehead.

He laughs and braces his shoulder against it again. "One more time."

"That's what men always say when they're already exhausted."

He looks over at me with an amused grin. "You offering to test that theory?"

"I'm offering to help you open the fucking door."

His grin widens. "Shame."

I roll my eyes, but I'm laughing when I grab the knob again.

One more hard pull and something inside the latch finally gives. The door cracks open a few inches, and I could honestly kiss the stupid thing.

"Halle-fucking-lujah."

The guy laughs but doesn't open it the rest of the way yet. Instead, he turns toward me, still wearing that easy, charming grin. "I'm Mason, by the way. Feels weird spending ten minutes trapped in a bathroom with someone without at least getting her name."

"Taylor."

"Taylor," he repeats, and his grin turns decidedly flirtier as his eyes sweep over me. "Well, Taylor, I can't say I'm entirely happy we got the door open."

I arch an eyebrow. "Really? Because I was about thirty seconds away from using your body as a battering ram."

He laughs. "See? That's exactly why I could've used another ten minutes."

He gives me a wink before pulling the door all the way open. "See you around, Taylor."

"Try locking the door next time, Mason."

"No promises."

I follow him into the hallway, smoothing my hair away from my sweaty face while Mason disappears toward the stairs. I'm about to head in the opposite direction when a familiar husky voice stops me.

"Why am I not surprised to see you coming out of a bathroom with another guy?"

Oh, for fuck's sake.

My head snaps toward the voice.

Kentaro is leaning against the closed door across the hall with his arms folded over his chest, one shoulder braced against the frame. There's no scowl this time, but somehow the flat, disapproving set of his mouth is worse. His hazel eyes move from Mason's retreating back to me, taking in my flushed cheeks, damp hair, and probably the sweat still shining across my forehead. His jaw flexes once.

I already know exactly where that narrow little mind of his has gone.

"Seriously," he adds. "Is the bathroom your favorite place to hook up, or do I just keep catching you on special occasions?"

I stare at him for a second before a humorless laugh slips out of me. "Wow. And here I thought tonight couldn't get any better. The Warriors win, free booze, and now an unsolicited lecture from my favorite asshole."

"You think I'm joking?"

"No, unfortunately. You always seem painfully serious when you're sticking your nose into shit that's none of your business."

He pushes away from the door. "Maybe because every time I see you, you're stumbling out of some bathroom with a different guy looking like—"

"Careful," I warn.