Page 62 of Play Dirty

Now it was my turn to shake my head. I hadn’t.

“He’s unstoppable right now,” Grayson said. “His save percentage is off the charts. Goals against average is just under two.”

I let out a low whistle.

“Shit. Didn’t realize.”

“Yeah.”

“Good for him,” I said, tilting my beer back. “He must be really gelling with the new team.”

Grayson paused. Just a little longer than normal.

“Yeah,” he said flatly. “That’s probably it.”

I watched my friend carefully as I took an intentionally slow pull. His expression didn’t seem to agree with the words coming out of his mouth. It was a little weird.

Then again, lots of things had been weird lately.

I set my beer down and stared at it, letting my mind drift. Of course, it drifted straight back to her. The way she didn’t look away. The way she pushed back.

Most people didn’t do that. Most people knew better.

Didn’t matter how many times I told myself to let it go, either. I couldn’t stop thinking about the hot house. The way she’d looked at me, like she wasn’t afraid of anything I threw at her.

The way the sweat pooled in the hollow of her throat, right above her—

I exhaled, hard.

“You alright?” Grayson asked.

“Fine.”

It was a lie, and he knew it. Not that it mattered. I’d been fine my whole life.

Fine meant controlled.

Fine meant contained.

Fine meant nothing got close enough to matter.

That’s how it worked. That’s how it always worked.

Things started fast — too fast — too intense. Didn’t matter who it was, or how it went down. It always ended one of two ways:

They pulled back…

Or I did.

First. Before it got to that point. Before it turned into something I couldn’t control.

No one stays. I’d learned that lesson early. I’d seen it with my mother, my father.

I didn’t need to learn it again.

“So you don’t trust her,” Grayson was saying.

I opened my eyes.