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I press my lips together. He has a point. I pause for a moment, watching him to make sure he doesn’t turn around, not that I could stop him if he did.

My voice comes out like that of a mouse. “Okay, I’ll take your clothes.”

He pulls down his hand and his eyes meet mine before briefly flicking down my body. He couldn’t help one more peek, could he?

The muscles in his arms and back flex as he bends over, and I fight a new little pulse I can’t seem to get rid of, while also fighting the urge to run away. I really don’t like the physical reactions he gives me, and that’s only in the two brief interactions I’ve had with him. No wonder girls swoon.

He turns toward me and hands me a large black sweater before turning around again. It has the number nine on it, with Matei written in gold letters.

His hockey sweater. This sweater must be meaningful to him.

I quickly slip into it and revel in his scent, a touch of cinnamon or cologne. The sweater is oversized and feels nice. It’s big enough to cover me, stopping just at the top of my knees, much better than the spa towel.

“You can look now,” I tell him once I take a couple of breaths to control my raging heartbeat.

When he turns around, his cocky grin fades and his eyes move to his sweater, then my legs, and back up to my face. His pupils flair as he opens his lips to say something, but is interrupted when the locker room door swings open and Thomas, Ezra, and the two other hockey players that ridiculed me in math class come rushing out. Nigel made me study their profiles, so I had to learn these idiot’s names, but from now on, I’ll just refer to them as two and four.

They all freeze when they see me, then immediately burst into laughter while Maison leans against the wall with a smirk on his face, and the color drains from mine.

Thomas even cracks a smile, which is surprising since he usually shows less emotion than Micah. Thomas is even bigger and scarier up close. He’s at least a couple of inches taller than Micah, with more muscle mass than I’ve ever seen on a kid his age. I didn’t even think high school students came this massive, and he clearly keeps himself in excellent shape—although they all do.

“Right on, buddy.” Ezra laughs and swings Maison a high five. “Already nailed the new girl, I see.”

Maison laughs and looks me up and down. “We were just getting acquainted.”

Number four steps forward, undressing me with his eyes. “When will it be my turn to get acquainted?” he coos.

The blood drains from my face as Micah comes out and darts his gaze around the group of hockey players who have now circled me, laughing.

He stands next to his brother and crosses his arms across his chest, but he says nothing. He looks irritated, almost bored by the whole situation.

Micah’s wearing the same sweater as I am—the only difference being the number ten. Apparently, it’s the number I’ll be watching the most in Alaska with how good he is. His face is expressionless as he looks me up and down.

This couldn’t get any worse. And Maison does nothing to stop it or defend me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, grab my bag, and I turn and run.

Fuck these guys.

I dart into the empty parking lot just as the evening sun settles behind a cloud. I pull open my car door as footsteps shuffle behind me.

“London, wait,” Maison calls out, jogging toward me.

I bristle as I throw my backpack in and slam the door shut, heading toward the driver’s side. He’s already two feet away from me by the time I turn to face him. “What do you want, Maison? Can you just let me leave?”

He holds his hands up. “I want to apologize for that. They’re idiots sometimes.”

My eyebrows arch. “Sometimes?”

He chuckles. “A lot of the time, but they were just kidding.”

I cross my arms. “I’m sure. Is this what you guys do for fun? You steal girls’ clothes so you can save them, then torment and make fun of them?”

His eyes sparkle and a tug plays on his lips. “We don’t usually have to trick girls into getting naked; they do that all on their own.”

Or you just drug them…

My jaw sets, and I cast him a glare. I see through his smile and the manipulation that drips from it. Everything that happened to Olivia—whatever that really was—was her fault in their eyes, I bet. Maison uses his smile as a weapon, and Micah… well, I’m not sure what he’s doing. These girls fall at their feet—idolize them because of their stature in the sports community and pretty faces. Well, I won’t drool just because he casts a smile at me. I was stupid enough to do that once.