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“No. No. You stay.” I push the door open wider and spin to face him with my back against the wood. “Twist, this was fun. Maybe I’ll even agree to a rematch.” I wink again.Who am I?“See you around.”
He hesitates. “Yeah, it was, but I’m afraid I’ll have to say no to a rematch.”
My stomach knots, dipping and speeding toward my toes. Yeah, this attraction—or whatever—is clearly all in my head.
Diverting his gaze, he looks off into the middle distance as if something weighs heavy on his mind. Did my flirting take things too far? Does he think he has to set me straight? Let me down easy?
Oh, God, I’m going to be sick, and yet I can’t move, get the hell out of here, even if I want to. I need to hear what he has to say.
Eventually his gaze finds mine once more, but only long enough to get the words out. “Tonight’s my last night in Winslow Grove.”
A shock wave ripples through me. That isn’t what I expected him to say.
“What?” I push off the door, suddenly perturbed and wanting answers. “No.”
He can’t leave.
All thoughts of going home before the storm vanish, and I stride purposefully toward him.
Oliver’s head swings to look at me, expression surprised, as if he can’t believe I’m reacting this way, that I care. Why would he think that? Of course I care that he’s leaving.
Then he looks beyond me, and his features morph into a deep concern or maybe even…alarm.
“Wren. No.” He sprints past me. “No. No. No,” he chants as if by saying it enough, whatever he doesn’t want to happen, won’t.
Confused, I awkwardly spin in the same direction. The door I was just leaning against swings toward the frame, and the force of it causes the pylon used to keep the door open to shift. The small orange cone sails into the hallway and the door closes.
“Fuck.” His hands slam onto the long metal bar of the door.
Nothing happens.
“What’s wrong? Oliver, why won’t the door open?” Suddenly my heart beats double time, yet I’m still not sure what exactly the problem is.
Turning to face me, he rakes a hand through his light-brown waves, expression grim. “The door sticks. Coach Bell warned me not to shut it because he wasn’t sure it would open again.”
“What?” I squeak out the question, tight bands of metal weaving through my voice as I try to block out how parts of my body reel from what I fear this means.
I’m lightheaded and faintly nauseous.
Something disquieting lurks in the depths of his usually serene gaze. “Wren, we’re stuck in here.”
Chapter3
Oliver
The gleam of victory that was in Wren’s bright brown eyes after our shootout—intoxicating and phenomenal to witness—is now gone. Completely erased by our reality. We’re locked in the gym.
“What do you mean stuck?” She shoves on the metal bar running along the door with all her might, but it doesn’t budge. “I don’t understand.”
“Coach said it started yesterday. The door wouldn’t open. They had to use a drill or something to get it open, and ended up removing the handle. A locksmith’s coming tomorrow to look at it.”
“I don’t understand. The bar’s on the door.” She bites her lip, and I can’t help but stare at her, not fully believing she’s here.
Stunning.
I always thought Wren was beautiful.
Still is.
