Page 39 of Top Shelf

The locker room is still. Blissfully still.

After the chaos of the game, this silence feels like a balm. There’s no shouting. No orders barked over my shoulder. No Carver breathing down my neck like I’m one mistake away from being fired.

The scent of sweat and ice and victory still clings to the walls, heavy in the air even though the players are long gone—off to whatever bar or house party they attend after a win.

Leaving only me in the locker room.

I move between benches, gathering stray gear and tossing forgotten towels into the bin near the exit. I still have to double-check that all the bottles are accounted for and plug in the cooler to charge for tomorrow. If I forget, Carver will find a way to make me regretit.

I stretch to grab a wayward puck from beneath the bench, fingers brushing cool rubber, when that feeling hits—that prickle between my shoulder blades.

The one that whispers you’re not alone.

I straighten slowly, the hair on my arms lifting.

My fingers tighten around the puck in my hand, shifting it so I can use it as some sort of defensive weapon.

I whip around?—

And freeze.

“Jesus,” I breathe, pressing a hand to my chest. “You scared me.”

Isaac Evans is standing just inside the doorway, half in shadow, arms folded across his chest. He doesn’t speak right away. Just stands there, casual as anything. And then he smiles—easy, boyish. The kind of grin that probably lets him get away with murder.

I swallow, shifting awkwardly on my feet beneath his gaze. I’m acutely aware that we are the only two people in here. Hell, possibly in the entire sports center. It’s a Friday night, and pretty much everyone emptied out as soon as the game was over.

I’ve made it a point to never be alone with a guy ever since that night, and being with Evans now, especially after already being cornered by Lucian, means panic is front and center, even though Evans hasn’t done anything to warrant it.

My palms sweat, my heart races, and I can feel fear muddying the edges of my thoughts.

“Did you forget something?” My voice comes out tight, higher-pitched than usual.

His eyes flick over me in a way that feels…deliberate. Not leering exactly, justaware.

“Nah, figured no one had invited you to the party and thought I’d see if you wanted to come…with me.”

“Oh.” My grip tightens around the puck. “I don’t really do parties.”

He takes a step closer. “You’ve never been to a Kings’ party, though.”

“I just—prefer quiet,” I respond quickly.

He chuckles under his breath, eyes glinting in the low light. “Quiet can be overrated.”

My pulse stumbles. The room feels smaller now. Warmer.

Toowarm.Why won’t he just take no for an answer?

I shift back a half-step without meaning to, my calves brushing against the bench.

He notices. His smile flickers, softening like he’s reading the wrong cue. “Hey, I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything.”

“You didn’t.”

Lie.

He studies me for a moment longer, then his grin returns, easy and practiced. “Guess I’ll have to convince you to say yes to a drink some other time.”