"Yeah. That tracks."
I blinked, confused. "What?"
He shook his head, bitter smile pulling at one corner of his mouth. "Nothing. Just—" He gestured vaguely at me. "You should cover the hickey next time."
The world stopped.
Hickey.
My hand flew to my neck—right side, just below my jaw—and found the tender spot I hadn't noticed in the rush to get ready. Hadn't thought to check. Hadn't realized Rhys had left visible proof of what we'd done.
Heat flooded my face so fast I went dizzy.
Oh fuck.
Everyone could see it. Jenna had seen it. That was why she'd asked about the glow. That was why she'd smirked. How many customers had noticed? How many players?
Ben watched my reaction with something like satisfaction twisting his features. "Yeah. Thought so."
"I didn't—" My voice came out strangled. "I wasn't trying to?—"
"Save it." He stepped back, hands up in mock surrender. "Enjoy your upgrade."
The words landed with surgical precision, cutting exactly where he meant them to. Then he turned and walked away, shoulders stiff, leaving me standing alone in the flickering hallway with my hand still pressed to my neck and shame burning through every nerve.
I couldn't move. Couldn't think past the mortification crawling under my skin.
Ben thought I'd used him. Led him on while already involved with someone else. Someone clearly more important, more powerful, more everything than a part-time café worker could ever be.
And he wasn't entirely wrong.
I'd gone on that date trying to convince myself I could move on from Rhys. Trying to prove I didn't need the man who kept pushing me away. But my heart had never been in it. Not really.
Ben deserved honesty from the start.
Instead, I'd given him confusion wrapped in good intentions and ended up hurting him, anyway.
The overhead lights buzzed. My reflection caught in the metal surface of a storage cart—wide eyes, flushed cheeks, fingers still covering the mark Rhys had left like a brand.
I dropped my hand. No point hiding it now. Everyone had already seen.
I stood frozen in the hallway, cheeks burning so hot I swore the fluorescent lights dimmed by comparison.
I pressed my palms against my face, forcing air through my lungs in careful counts. In for four. Hold. Out for four. The breathing exercise Marsha had taught me years ago when panic used to swallow me whole.
It wasn't working.
My throat tightened. Eyes stung. I blinked hard against the pressure building behind them, refusing to cry in a stadium hallway where anyone could walk past and see me falling apart.
"It's fine," I whispered to the empty corridor. The words tasted like lies. "Ben's not a bad guy. He's just hurt."
And he was. I'd hurt him. Not intentionally, but intent didn't erase impact. He'd put himself out there—asked me on a proper date, chosen a nice restaurant, been nothing but kind and respectful—and I'd repaid him with confusion and mixed signals and a hickey from another man visible for the entire arena to see.
Of course he was angry. He had every right to be.
"He'll cool off," I told myself, quieter this time. Less certain.
Maybe he would. Maybe tomorrow we'd manage awkward professionalism. Maybe eventually he'd even forgive me.
