Shutout (Rules of the Game, #2)(37)

But she isn’t anyone else, and that’s the problem.

Her voice grows drowsy, and her responses start to come slower and slower. Just when I start to think she’s fallen asleep, she pipes up.

“Question twenty-two: Why don’t you date, Hades?”

Reasons line up in my brain. Not surprisingly, they all trace back to hockey.

There are countless factors beyond my control, like whether our defense plays well and how strong the other team’s offense is. What I can control is my level of effort and preparation, and it isn’t possible to focus on those the way I need to if I start adding other variables into the equation. I only have so much bandwidth.

Not to mention, a relationship would pose a serious risk of fucking with my mindset. Playing goal is one of the most psychologically demanding positions of any sport, and I don’t have the bandwidth to handle any additional stress. If Chase fumbles a pass or Dallas misses a shot, people may not even notice—but everyone knows when I make a mistake.

I clear my throat. “Too busy. No time.”

“You never know.” She yawns. “Maybe your taxi light just hasn’t come on yet.”

I have no idea what that means, but I’d gladly listen to her all night.





CHAPTER 15





IN CHECK





SERAPHINA





After a night of sleeping next to Tyler with zero release, my vibrating Sonicare toothbrush is starting to look more tempting than it should.

Shaking off the thought, I lean over the bathroom counter to examine my face in the mirror. I don’t look as rough as I expected. Not great, but not like someone who had to be rescued from a bathroom at a party after a series of poor decisions.

The aftermath of last night’s events becomes more evident as I run through my skincare routine. My skin is drier than the Sahara, thirstily soaking up layers of serum and moisturizer almost instantly. I dab some Aquaphor on the worst spots for good measure before moving on to brush my teeth. The sooner I banish my morning breath, the better.

Midway through brushing, there’s a soft knock on the bathroom door. “Ser?”

I open the door with my free hand to find a rumpled, half-awake Tyler. My heart flutters, and a rush of giddiness courses through me. At some point during the night, he must’ve gotten hot and taken off his shirt. Now he’s got this sexy-cute thing going on, all tattoos and bedhead.

He ducks his head to catch my eye. “How are you feeling, Tink?”

“Pretty good,” I mumble, giving him a thumbs up with my toothbrush still in my mouth. Despite what happened last night, I feel relatively normal this morning. No worse than a normal hangover, at least.

Wildly confused about what the two of us are doing, however.

Did I embarrass myself in front of him last night? Turn him off forever? I think I remember most of what happened, but I can’t be sure there aren’t any key, humiliating details I’ve conveniently forgotten. If taking off my dress was the worst thing I did, I can live with that. It doesn’t seem fatal.

“Mind if I…?” He points to his toothbrush on the counter, raising his eyebrows. When I nod, he squeezes past me and his palm presses to my lower back. My stomach flutters with butterflies but to my dismay, he doesn’t let it linger.

My toothbrush vibrates in my hand, telling me it’s time to switch sides as he grabs his off the counter, wetting it beneath the tap before dabbing a pearl of blue gel on top. Brushing our teeth together feels oddly domestic. I like it more than I should.

The timer goes off, and I set the handle back on its base to charge. “Did I wake you?”

“Kinda.” The word is muffled by his blue toothbrush.

“Sorry. Like I said, I can’t sleep in.”

He waves me off, leaning over the sink to spit. “All good. Bed just felt a little empty suddenly, that’s all.”

Hearing that does something to me it shouldn’t.

When I step back into his room, my heart sinks at the knowledge I should sneak upstairs while I still can. No one else is awake yet and it’s the perfect opportunity. Even knowing that, I can’t bring myself to leave. Tyler and I have been in this cozy little bubble since we got home last night, and once it ends, I’m scared things will never be the same between us again.

Instead, I waste time gathering my shoes, my dress, and a few items that spilled out of my clutch onto his desk. Best not to leave evidence behind. Not that anything happened.

I don’t know what’s holding him back—whether he won’t make a move because of Chase or if there’s something else I’m missing. I could give him a pass for last night, but he’d had other opportunities and still… nothing. It’s frustrating as hell. I can only throw myself at him so much before giving up.

Tyler returns a moment later and lowers to sit on the edge of the bed. Every inch of his body looks like it was carved from marble, from his chiseled upper body to the curved obliques disappearing beneath the waistband of his black athletic shorts.

Setting my things in a heap on his desk chair, I draw in a breath and summon the courage to give it one last ditch effort. At least this way, I’ll know for sure.

I come to stand before him, painfully aware of how little I’m wearing. I’m not shy—but right now, I feel naked in more ways than one.