Page 79 of Play Dirty

“Because some idiot decided to start a fight in the hallway.”

“Ah,” he acknowledged. “Welcome to away games.”

I forced myself to take a long, deep breath. Between the door being locked and Grayson’s presence, I felt a thousand times better already.

“I didn’t ask for the cultural experience.”

“No one does,” he shrugged. “But you always get it anyway.”

A silence settled, as I looked around. His room was marginally better than mine. Same thin curtains. Same questionable carpet. Same heater rattling in the corner like it was about to drop a kidney.

“No roommate?”

He shook his head. “Hotel ran out of doubles. Perks of being captain.”

“Lucky you.”

“Lucky me.”

Grayson crossed to a small pile of clothes and began rummaging around for a T-shirt. He found one, and began turning it right-side in.

“You can hang out a few minutes, if you want,” he said, nodding toward the bed. “Until things quiet down.”

“A few minutes?” I huffed. “How magnanimous of you.”

Our eyes met. He frowned.

“Hey, you didn’t have to come here.”

“I know.”

“But you did.”

“Yeah.”

Another beat. Longer this time.

“Still think I don’t trust you?” he asked, pulling his shirt on.

I didn’t answer right away. I was too busy watching those washboard abs disappear.

“I don’t know what I think anymore,” I sighed, tiredly.

He scoffed. “That’s funny.”

“Why?”

“Because you usually think you’ve got everything figured out.”

I was no longer afraid. Not now. Not in his room. But he could sense that, too.

Maybe that’s why he stepped even closer to me.

“You uhh, want some clothes?”

I looked down, and suddenly realized what I was wearing. A T-shirt that left my naval exposed. Sleep shorts that barely covered my ass. Everything was tight, including money. That’s why I generally relegated old clothing into sleepwear.

“I’m fine,” I said defiantly.