She shakes her head and forces a smile. “I’m fine.”
But I still don’t understand. Who’s her dad? Is he an employee? One of the many coaches theMayhememploys? Aplayer?
Oh—fuck—how young is she? Is she one of my new teammate’s kids?
No, there’s no way she’s that young.
She lifts her gaze to mine, and the look she gives me—the way her green eyes darken, the way her lips part like she wantsto tell me more but can’t—tells me everything I need to know. She knows who I am and I’m missing something important here.
And then, just as she turns to leave, just as she shifts beneath the dim gym lights to grab her purse, I notice it. A tiny, familiar outline on her shoulder blade.A Bluebird tattoo.
My chest constricts. My stomach plummets. I draw in a breath, but there’s no air left in the room.
No. Fucking. Way.
It’sher.
She’sHarley Quinn.
MyHarley Quinn.
The woman I had a one-night stand with almost a year ago. The wild redhead who strutted into my hotel room, got naked, and then wrecked me in the best way possible before disappearing into the night.
The woman whose fire I’ve dreamt about. The last woman that I’ve slept with. And the first one I think about when I get myself off.
She knew my name then and she knows it now. Did she know who I was the whole time?
“Hey,” I growl, stepping forward, reaching for her.
But she’s already moving. Ducking under Lochlan’s arm. Rushing down the hotel hallway without another glance sent my way. I lunge to follow her, but Lochlan steps in front of me, halting my momentum with one solid hand to my chest.
“Don’t go after her.”
I scowl at him. My brother might like him, but I don’t need him telling me what to do. “Why the hell not?”
He just shakes his head, sighing like he feels bad for me.
“You really don’t know who that is?” he presses.
“No. Should I?”
His mouth quirks, but there’s no humor in it. Just something bordering on sympathy.
“Yeah,” he says, patting my chest. “Yeah, you really should.”
Something uneasy curls in my stomach. “Well, then fucking tell me.”
Lochlan exhales through his nose, his smirk softening as he tilts his head, like he’s waiting for me to put it together on my own. But my brain isn’t working. Because I’m still trying to reconcile how I just made out with my one-night stand and didn’t realize it.
Harley Quinn.
Sexy librarian.
Angel food cake lover.
Buns of steel.
The woman who hip-thrusted a two-hundred-pound hockey player in a dress and heels.
