But getting through to Cora was different. She had her heart in the right spot, sure, wanted to defend the girl who was hurt. That part I got. I still questioned her social life choices, but her act today, talking to the journo crew the way she did? That did it for me. I’d already started falling hard for her, my obsession over the top before she started ripping us a new one a few days ago.
Then this afternoon…fuck me. I was hers from the moment she put my number on her back. For as long as she wanted me, and forever after.
I leaned over the edge of the bar and snagged Cora’s blue leather jacket, sending a wave to the bartender. He gave me a thumbs up, seeming to recognize my face which still felt weird, but I was starting to understand the life that came with the Chimera jersey. Hell, if I didn’t fuck up this next part, maybe I’d be able to keep it for the rest of the season.
Maybe even a while longer.
Folding Cora’s jacket neatly, I tucked the garment under my arm and made my way out of the club without being accosted by anyone, though I scanned the room more than once, searching for a specific face.
Don’t fuck it up. Don’t fuck it up?—
I made a promise to Corinne. I made promises to Coach. The only person I hadn’t made that same promise to was Cora, but she was waiting for me. And so, I turned around and left the club, running into a journalist I semi recognized from the press conference Cora hosted earlier in the week.
“Did your girl get home safe?” he demanded, not looking at me. His eyes slid side to side and he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, flicking a lighter nervously though not actually lighting the one that hung from his lips.
“She’s none of your business,” I said shortly, stepping around the man, intent on getting on my bike and following Cora home.
“She is if she winds up like the other woman. What was her name? Storm? Stormish?”
“Weathers,” I said shortly. “You should know. Didn’t you write some bullshit story about us?”
He waved my irritation away with a frivolous flick of his nicotine stained fingers. “Part of the job.”
I fixed him with a hard stare. The easy rebuttal ofno it’s notstayed locked away behind my lips, thankfully. That his job was made up of pretend stories was akin to mine being made up of creating ice sculptures with a hockey stick. Both were bullshit,but I wasn’t about to get into that with this shady as fuck, inebriated jurno right now.
“What do you want?”
“Did you see her leave?”
I smirked, recalling Cora stumbling away from me, the insides of her thighs glossed with our mixed fluids. “Yeah, I did. What did you need, again?” I pulled my keys out of my pocket and slung one leg over my bike.
He shook his head, apparently trying to focus.Don’t puke on my shoes, paper boy.
The journo weaved sideways and caught himself on my handlebars. “Yeah, but you’re not with her. Did you take her home, or what?”
His fixation on my girl was starting to bother me. “Spit it out, man. I don’t have time for?—”
“Peatie was asking about her, alright? I tried to tell him that she was with you, but he left and now I can’t find him. Where the hell is she?”
Sounding more sober than he had the entire conversation, the man got up in my face, but suddenly I didn’t give a shit about the man’s ramblings.
“What name did you say?”
He stepped back at my growl, his hands raised. “Peatie, alright? Her favorite little paparazzi tool who gives her all the insides on us. He’s not liked by anyone, none of us on either side. But he’s obsessed with her. He has been for fucking years. She doesn’t know, and he likes to— Well, he’s got this weird kink, you know? He likes to?—”
“Bite.” The single word snapped between us, brittle as fuck. “Yeah. I fucking know.”
My thumb blurred as I threw out a quick message to my girl, my heart in my throat before I started my bike and tore awayfrom the man, showering him with gravel. His curses followed me away from the club, but fucking sue me.
He was right, after all. I needed to make sure Cora got home safe. Suddenly all the banter we had earlier about hunting and leaving the door unlocked for me seemed like the worst fucking idea in history. Because I knew Peatie’s name, just like I knew his particular kink. I’d seen it before.
On Corinne Weathers.
The buildings blurred either side of me as I focused on the road and prayed I made it to her before she did as she promised and left that door wide open with only my message as warning to decipher.
Valentine: RUN, Cora.
I could only hope she’d read it and understand, and lock that damn door. That or I did, before he got there first.
