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So…I gave in.
I stripped down, left my folded clothes on the bench—onJoel’sportion of the bench—pulled my towel from my caddy, and hung it on one of the hooks near the entrance to the showers. Already, steam was filling the space, clinging to my skin, and I set the plastic container with my body wash and hair products within arm’s reach before I stepped into the water, pretending the warm rivulets running over me were Joel’s fingers tracing patterns on my skin.
But that was all it was.
Pretend.
Twenty-Seven
Joel
Isat in the parking lot, watching my teammates drive away, ready to sleep in their own beds for the first time in a week.
I was ready too.
Exhaustion pulled at my body, a body that ached after the four games that week. Four nights of collisions and working my ass off. Sandwiched by four nights being crammed into that bus, being bumped around while trying to make my big, dumb body fit into a seat that wasn’t designed for a big, dumb body.
But Billie’s car was in the parking lot.
And I could see a light on in her office.
And…she hadn’t texted back.
So, I was debating between going to the trailer, seeing if the door was unlocked, and if it wasn’t, either banging on it until she answered or picking the lock and letting myself in.
“Step one,” I muttered, popping open my car door and moving to the trailer. “See if it’s unlocked.”
I tugged at the handle. It opened.
Opened…in the middle of the night.
Opened when she might be sleeping and vulnerable, just down the hall.
My temper spiked. I should lock it, close it, turn around and walk away. But she’d left it open in the middle of the night when she might be sleeping and vulnerable, just down the hall.
“Fuck,” I muttered, knowing that even if I pretended otherwise for a minute, I wasalwaysgoing to go into that trailer.
Always.
I walked down the hall, straight to her office, eyes on the band of light shining out through her open door.
“Harpy, you’d better not be work—”
I walked in and froze.
Because her office was empty.
Her monitors were on, not even sleeping yet.
Her chair was pushed back.
Worry immediately coiled in my belly and I studied the empty space like it would give me answers. And it did, I supposed. Blanket crumpled on the couch, as though she’d tossed it back and got up.
Probably to work on the computer—one of whose screens was showing a spreadsheet.
Chair pushed against the file boxes on the back wall. Bottom desk drawer pulled open.
So awake. Working.
