Page 73 of Offside Angle

Jace laughs. “Look, just because you like Santi doesn’t mean you like all men,” he says. “Have you ever felt attracted to any other man?”

I scrunch my nose up without even thinking about it. “No.”

“Exactly,” Jace says, pointing at me with sudden triumph. “So it’s not a whole new identity crisis. It’s just… Santi. One guy. Who apparently makes your brain short-circuit in a way no one else does. That’s not the end of the world, man.”

I stare at the ceiling again, letting his words sink in. He makes it sound so simple. So normal. Falling for one specific person—even if that person happens to be a man—doesn’t have to rewrite my entire life unless I decide that it does.

It’s weirdly comforting.

Jace rolls onto his side to look at me again, more serious now. “You don’t have to label it or figure it all out tonight,” he says. “Just… don’t beat yourself up about it. And if you need to talk, I’m here. Even if I’m not as cool as Shane or Vik.”

I snort softly, the tension in my chest easing just a fraction. “Thanks, Moreno.”

“Anytime, Rivera. Now stop sulking and get some sleep. We’ve got two games to win if we don’t want to go home early.”

One guy.

Just Santi.

Maybe Jace is right.

Maybe it really is that simple.

The next morning, I wake up with an idea.

It’s not a good idea. There’s a strong possibility it’s one of the stupidest ideas I’ve ever had, and I once tried to jump from a second-story balcony into a swimming pool because Cole told me I wouldn’t. Still, Jace said something last night that has been chewing on my brain ever since.

Maybe it’s not men. Maybe it’s just Santi.

Unfortunately, there’s only one way I can think of to test that theory, and apparently sleep has not improved my judgment enough to stop me.

I’m out of bed before common sense gets involved, showering quickly and pulling on the first pair of sweats I find. Jace is barely awake when I head for the door, watching me from his bed with his hair sticking up in every possible direction.

“Where the hell are you going? Breakfast isn’t for another half hour.”

“Gotta test something.”

He pushes himself up on one elbow, suddenly a little more awake. “Test wha—”

The door closes behind me before he can finish.

He’ll understand later.

Probably.

I make it four doors down and start pounding on Roman’s door until it finally opens. Roman looks like he’s considering whether murder before breakfast is socially acceptable, one hand dragging over his face while he mutters something in Russian that I’m fairly certain isn’t complimentary.

“What is it, Rivera? Breakfast is in half an hour.”

“Move, Sidorov.”

I’m already slipping past him before he has a chance to object, which earns me another muttered curse as he turns to watch me invade his hotel room.

“Good morning to you too.”

“Where’s Shane?”

That gets his attention. His eyes narrow slightly before he gestures toward the bathroom.