Page 167 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter

Slowly, as if air is being released from a balloon, I drain out. I relax into the mattress until he lifts up and examines my face. He brushes my hair back, tucks it behind my ear. When he sits up, he takes me with him.

I swing my legs over and look at Oliver.

Carter half sits on the desk, fully dressed and watching me.

It takes too much effort to put my clothes back on. Leggings. Jacket. Shoes. The whole time, the room is silent.

And when I walk out, no one stops me.

fifty-one

sydney

Carter shows up at my room an hour later. He’s in fresh clothes, his hair damp and finger-combed back. He inspects my space and drops onto the unused bed, watching me expectantly.

“What?”

“I’m hungry,” he says. “So maybe we should go to dinner.”

I sit on my bed and bring my legs up. The room service menu is within reach, so I grab it and toss it at him.

He catches it and puts it aside.

“I meant out,” he clarifies.

“I’m tired.” I was in bed when he knocked. I wasn’t sleeping, but I was pretty close. Maybe lifeless is a better description. Eyes open but dead on the inside.

“Did you shower?”

I shrug. The real answer is no, but I don’t want to admit that out loud. I’m gross. I just had sex with not one but three guys, technically. Two if we’re only counting finishers.

“Okay.” Carter stands. He takes my wrists and pulls me to my feet. Before I know it, he’s got my shirt and sports bra off.

I cover my chest.

“Since when do you do that with me?”

I look away, but I don’t drop my hands.

He pulls down my leggings and panties. He goes to his knee and helps get each foot out, and his fingers wrap around my calf.

My heart is sluggish, but it gives an extra-loud thud against my ribs.

“What’s this?” He traces the bandage. “It’s bleeding through it.”

He rips it off without warning. Sudden fear ignites in my chest. My secret can’t get out—it’s the only thing keeping me sane. I step away from him fast, leaving him standing with the bandage in his hand. Even from this angle, this distance, the blood is obvious. A wide patch of it, dark brown and dried at the edges, bright red in the center.

“You want me to shower?” I snap. “Fine.”

I scurry into the bathroom. I slam the door, but he catches it with his shoulder. He forces his way in, and the bathroom seems to shrink around us.

“Stop.” He reaches for me. “Stop running from me.”

There’s nowhere else to go, so he gets his wish. He grips my hips and pivots us, putting my ass on the counter next to the sink. When I try to hop down, he raises his head and glares at me.

I freeze. All I can feel is my heart pounding through my whole body.

“Please, Sydney.”