Page 36 of Forbid It

CASSIE

“I’m heading to the bathroom.” I keep my voice firm and even. “And then I’m going home.”

“Cassandra.” Dad frowns at me. “The sponsors are in the lounge, and they want to see you.”

I roll my eyes. “Dad, they saw me at the last mixer. And they saw me in the box for the entire game.”

He raises a brow, his ‘I’m about to be disappointed in you’ face on full display for the first time since I was a teenager and skipped last period Math to go surfing.

“Okay,” I relent. “I’ll come show my face.”

“Great,” Dad presses a quick kiss to my head. “See you in there.”

As I walk away, my stomach knots. I really want to go home. My jaw hurts from all the smiling I’ve already had to do today, and I’ve barely had time to sit on my couch since I got in this morning. I check the app on my phone which monitors the tide conditions, but I already know before I open it that the waves will not be cooperative if I leave any later than right this second.

After I finish in the bathroom, I check my watch. It’s only taken me six and a half minutes from when I spoke to my father. I could probably stretch to fifteen before Dad starts thinking I’m missing, so I can probably get away with lingering for a few more minutes and delaying the inevitable.

I wander along the corridor, further away from the lounge to avoid any awkward bump-ins as I ditch.

A set of double doors are propped open along the left wall, and I vaguely remember going this way when I performed here two years ago. As far as I remember, there’s a dressing room with a pretty comfortable couch at the end of this corridor, and I figure that will be the perfect place to hide out.

I’m halfway down the corridor when I hear voices echoing down the hall behind me. In a panic, I slide into an empty room and press my ear to the door until I hear the voices pass.

“Hiding?” Someone says behind me, and I let out an undignified yelp as I spin in place.

“Jesus Christ.” I hold my hand to my chest and take in the man in front of me. It takes a second for my heart rate to recover from the fright, and it’s hindered by the sight of a half-naked, glistening Robbie King splayed out in front of me like my own personal feast. He’s half-reclined on a massage table, ice strapped to his knee and his hair perfectly tousled.

“What are you doing in here?”

He gestures wordlessly to his knee.

Right. This is obviously the recovery room.

He raises his brows expectantly.

It was bad enough seeing him on the pitch for ninety minutes, especially because the camera man obviously had a knack for catching him whenever he pulled the bottom of his shirt up to wipe sweat from his eyes, giving the rest of us an eyeful of his toned abs. Toned abs that are less than a foot away from me right now. I throw my shoulders back. “I’m looking for the dressing room.”

Robbie’s eyebrows scrunch, a little crease forming between them, making him look almost boyish.

He slides up and off the table, unfurling his big body as he stands.

“Should you be getting up?” I ask warily. His knee doesn’t look swollen as he rips the ice away from his skin and discards it on the table behind him, but he must be in here for a reason. His shorts are pulled up above his thighs almost indecently, showing off toned muscles that make my mouth water.

“I’m not injured, Cass. It’s post match recovery. I just have to take it easy tonight.”

I nod my head awkwardly. It’s the first time we’ve been in the same room since I propositioned him, and I can’t help but remember it.

Does he remember? Does he ever think about my offer? Does he ever regret not saying yes?

The best thing to do now is not bring it up. “So no surfing?”

Fucking hell, Cassie.

He licks his lips as he rests back on the table, hands clenching the padded surface so tightly the muscles in his forearms pop. “Probably not.”

The room is suddenly too small. It only takes two steps to cross to him, and my feet move before I tell them to.

“It was a good game,” I tell him, stepping into his space. His legs stay planted on the floor, but I swear his knuckles whiten on the table.