Page 102 of Top Shelf

Confidence.

The gym is mostly dark when I enter, only a few overhead lights still humming softly. I figured everyone had cleared out afterpractice, and I’d come in to wipe down the benches before I’m done for the day.

Except I’m greeted with the clang of weights being lifted, so someone must still be here. Typically, the guys filter out straight after practice, go eat or attend classes, then steadily filter back in later in the day to get their workout in.

Stepping further into the room, I recognize Isaac at the weights bench. He’s alone, pounding out reps like he’s trying to punish the bar into submission. The sound is almost too loud in the empty room—metal on metal, breath rasping, weight plates rattling like bones. Each rep lands heavier than the last, echoing off the walls.

Sweat beads across his bare shoulders, his chest rising and falling with each sharp breath. His jersey and shirt are tossed in a heap beside him, and earbuds dangle around his neck, forgotten.

I don’t move. He hasn’t seen me yet, and part of me considers backing out quietly, giving him his space—especially after the way he stormed off the ice at the end of practice today. I knew he was pissed about that drill, but the fury in his gaze as he’d stomped past me was a tad terrifying.

Before I can so much as lift a foot, his head turns, and his eyes catch mine. The bar slams into the rack with a harsh metallic clang that has me flinching.

Then everything goes very, very still.

Except for my heartbeat, which is suddenly loud in my ears.

“Didn’t expect company,” he says, voice rough. “Or are you here to clean up after me, too?”

I blink. “I didn’t know anyone was still here.”

He sits up slowly, swiping a towel across his face and neck. His muscles tense with the movement, shoulders flexing like he’s still keyed up—coiled too tight.

“Cameto cool off,” he adds, voice deceptively casual. “Got a little…heated earlier.”

I hover by the entrance, the wipe cloth still in my hand, stupidly out of place.

“Are you okay?” I ask with genuine concern. I might not know Isaac well, but he is always chatty with me, always flirting. He seems like a nice enough guy, and he’s a strong player. While switching positions was the best call for the team, I do feel bad for him if he’s this annoyed over it.

His head tilts.

That same smirk I’ve seen a dozen times curves his lips…but it’s lacking his usual warmth. It’s reflexive. Hollow.

“Never better,” he says, voice slightly off from its usual charm. “Though I gotta admit…wasn’t the best feeling getting swapped out mid-drill like that.”

My stomach tightens.

I don’t know if he knows it was me who suggested the change. It’s unlikely, but impossible to know for sure.

“I’m sorry?—”

He waves a hand dismissively, cutting me off. “Don’t worry about it.” He tosses the towel down, standing to face me. “Coach knows best, right?” He scoffs, and I’ve never felt more awkward around him than I do at this moment.

He’s shirtless, sweat-slicked, and with his six-foot-two frame, he towers over me, causing the space between us to suddenly feel a hell of a lot smaller than it did a second ago.

Uncomfortable, I take a step back. My heel bumps into something, but I don’t dare glance down to see what is blocking my path. My focus is solely on the man in front of me, who is watching me like a hawk. His lips are hooked up in a smirk, but there’s a deadness in his eyes that makes my mouth run dry.

“And so enigmatic, taking advice from an intern,” he says,voice smooth again, sliding into flirtation—but it’s off. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

Shit. Hedoesknow.

“You must have a sharp eye, Wren. Smart. Confident. Hot, too. That’s a dangerous combo.”

My stomach drops. Heat floods my skin, then drains just as fast, leaving me cold and prickly.

“I wasn’t—” I try, flustered. “I didn’t mean to?—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself.” He takes a slow step closer, muscles shifting. “Lucian should thank you. You practically gift-wrapped that goal for him.”