Page 27 of Offside Angle

He tilts his head, and I can practically watch him compare this version of me against however many years of evidence he’s collected.

“Uh-huh,” he says slowly. “Tired. Sure. That’s why you almost drowned on water and now you’re talking about Roman like he didn’t just do his job.”

“He made a good save.”

“He’s a goalie. We do that sometimes.”

I roll my eyes, which only seems to encourage him.

Shane leans closer, lowering his voice enough that at least he has the decency not to involve the entire restaurant in whatever interrogation he’s decided to conduct. “You’ve got that look.”

I immediately hate this conversation. “What look?”

“The one you get when you’re trying way too hard to convince everybody you’re fine.” He pauses, considering me. “Usually means you’re either hiding a body or hiding from one.”

A grin pulls at his mouth. “Which is it?”

I take another drink of water—carefully this time—and glare over the rim. “Neither. You’re just insane.”

“Probably.” He says it without hesitation, because that part has never been up for debate.

But he keeps watching me.

And that’s what really pisses me off.

After all these years, Shane doesn’t need me to tell him when something’s wrong. He just notices, digs his claws in, and waits until I either talk or give myself away.

Nosy fucking goalie.

By the time dinner wraps up, everyone starts heading up to their rooms. I stay behind in the lobby for a bit, still on the phone with Lena as I make my way toward the elevators.

She’s in full nerd mode, telling me all about the big tattoo she has lined up this weekend. Her voice gets brighter and more excited the longer she talks, going on about the design, the placement, and how she’s been planning the linework for weeks. I smile to myself as I listen, picturing the way her face probably looks right now — focused and passionate. It’s adorable.

I’m so caught up in the conversation that I round the corner without looking and walk straight into somebody. My phone nearly launches out of my hand, and although I manage to catch it once, I fumble it anyway and watch it clatter across the carpet.

“Joder.”

I bend to grab it, already irritated with myself, and straighten just in time to realize who I’ve collided with.

Of course.

Because apparently this hotel contains hundreds of people and the universe keeps finding ways to put Santiago Vega directly in my path.

Santi takes half a step back, looking entirely too entertained for someone who just body-checked me in a hallway, but before he can open his mouth I put the phone back to my ear.

“I’ll call you later, baby.”

Lena wishes me luck for tomorrow, makes me promise not to do anything stupid, and reminds me that getting injured absolutely counts as doing something stupid before finally hanging up. By the time I slide the phone into my pocket, Santi is still standing there.

“She sounds nice.”

I give him a flat look. “She is. Move, Santiago.”

Something shifts across his face so quickly I almost miss it, but then he steps aside, giving me enough room to pass while somehow still managing to make the simple act of moving out of my way irritating.

I’m already walking past him when he says, “Tell your girl I said hi.”

I keep going, refusing to give him anything.