I ignore the pang in my chest and offer her the money. “Here.”
Her brows furrow as she looks down at the not-so-crisp cash. “What’s this?”
“It’s the money.” I offer it to her again, but she doesn’t take it. She just stares at the bills like it’s a den of venomous snakes ready to strike at any second.
“What money?”
Glancing over my shoulder to make sure we’re still alone, I step closer and drop my voice low. “From the bet.”
Her eyes widen in understanding as she gives me a slow, knowing nod. “Aw, the virgin money. Gotcha.”
Ignoring her sarcasm, I offer it to her again. “Take it.”
“No thanks.”
“Blake…”
“I don’t want my whore money.”
The flippant way she says it gets under my skin and feeds my frustration. “You’re not a whore,” I growl, offering the money again.
She pushes my hand holding the stack of cash away and shoves it into my chest. “Look. You earned it fair and square––”
“Blake––”
“I don’t want it,” she snaps, taking a step away from me. And I hate the distance. The walls I can feel being erected around her. The strength she has to push me away when I know I’m not capable of doing the same.
“Well,” I look down at the cash, my stomach flooding with shame. “Neither do I.” I look up at her again and offer the money another time, desperation flooding my system, leaving me queasy. “Please, Blake. Take it.”
“Seriously. Keep it,” she orders. “Burn it for all I care. I gotta go.”
She turns on her heel and walks back into Russ’s office, closing the door in my face.
Fuck.
21
BLAKELY
It’s a home game, so I’ve been able to hide in Russ’s office. But if I stay holed up in here any longer, people will start asking questions, and those are the last thing I need.
I should’ve come out before the team even left the locker room, but I didn’t want to see Theo again. Didn’t want to give him another chance to talk to me after everything happened. Not only the actual sex part, but seeing the cash? The evidence behind why and how we happened? My stomach churns. I figured running home and waking up at the ass crack of dawn to hit up a High fitness class would be enough to clear my head after our little sexcapade, but it’s only made things messier.
Or maybe Theo’s offhanded texts were the final nail in the coffin. Regardless, I’m not stupid enough to think I can avoid him forever, but if I receive one more concerned look from Russ, it might be the death of me.
Steeling my shoulders, I walk through the tunnel and toward our team’s bench across from the penalty boxes. A familiar silhouette catches my attention.
“Mack?” I murmur.
Macklin, Theo’s older brother, turns around, his mouth pulling into a grin. “Blake?”
“Hey!” I race toward him and throw my arms around his neck. He returns my hug for a brief second and sets me back on my feet.
The guy’s as strong––and as hot––as I remember. If I weren’t in love with his little brother, and he hadn’t married his high school sweetheart, Macklin would definitely have been my first choice. The guy’s sweet, responsible, smart, and looks hella good in his paramedic uniform.
“How are things?” I ask.
And just like that, his enthusiasm from seeing me seeps into something else. Something more guarded and somber as he squeezes the back of his neck, avoiding my gaze. “Uh. Same old.” Clearing his throat, he looks at me again and adds, “What are you doing here?”
“I’m interning,” I reply. “Trying to get some experience in sports medicine and physical therapy.”
“Sports medicine and physical therapy, huh?”
“Yup. Is it surprising?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Kind of figured you’d do something with kids, but this is great, Blake.”
“Yeah. I mean, I think it would be a blast to hang out with kids all day, but this has always been the plan, so…”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll kill it, and I’m glad at least someone can go into the medical field,” he teases. He’d been considering going to medical school before he got his girlfriend pregnant in high school. Obviously, the baby curveball threw him for a loop, and he decided to become a paramedic instead.
I tug at the Star of Life emblem on his shirt. “Seems like you found a pretty decent alternative.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” he hedges.
The whistle blows, signifying the start of the first period, and I grimace, hooking my thumb toward the team’s bench. “I should probably get out there. Good to see you, though.”
“You too, Blake.”
Tiptoeing around a few LAU personnel, I sidle up to Russ and pray he doesn’t notice I’ve been absent in the first place. Not that I think it’ll work. I swear the guy has eyes in the back of his head and sees everything. The good. The bad. And the ugly.
“You good?” Russ asks. His arms are crossed, and his eyes are glued to the players as Colt, Theo, and Logan skate across the blue line and into enemy territory. But I can tell Russ is watching me from his periphery. Studying my mannerisms. Reading me better than I can read myself.
“Yup,” I reply, ignoring Theo as he skates past me. “Doing great.”
“Good.”
I watch as Colt shoots the puck toward the goalie, but he blocks it with his leg pads. The crowd groans. Theo catches the rebound and passes the puck back to Colt, but he misses it, and the Razors advantage, chipping it off the board toward their left wing on the other side of the ice.
“Come on, Colt,” I mutter under my breath. He shouldn’t have missed the pass. He never misses a pass. His head isn’t in the game. The question is…why? I didn’t hear what the team was talking about before they made their way onto the ice, but clearly, it’s gotten into Colt’s head and is messing with him.
Does he know?
There’s no way. Theo wouldn’t’ve told him. He doesn’t have a death wish. But Theo had the cash, which means he had to have been paid by someone, right? And if he was paid in the locker room, there’s a chance––a good one––Colt saw the exchange. Would he have asked about the money? Honestly, I don’t know. Guys are kind of oblivious sometimes, aren’t they? The questions swirl in my brain, making me sick to my stomach as my attention shifts to Theo. He looks pissed. Anxious. So does Colt. Logan, however, looks right as rain. And Burrows? The guy glares at me on the bench, causing my stomach to flip-flop all over again.
Shit.
I fold my arms and force myself to find the puck on the ice, desperate for a distraction, for something to take my mind off the pressure in my chest or the way the world feels like it’s closing in on me.
The Razors’ center dodges a distracted Depp and skates right past him, passing the puck to number 42 on the opposing team. Before Tukani, LAU’s goalie, has a chance to stop him, the right wing smacks the puck into the top left side of the net, scoring a goal.