Page 79 of The Romance Line
Quickly, I tuck in my shirt and zip my pants. Running a hand through my hair, I try to straighten up so it’s not obvious I just got the blow job of a lifetime, then I yank open the door. But the second I step into the hallway, I’m greeted by the smiling face of Elias.
Fuck me.
“Hey, Max! Great game tonight. You were on fire,” he says, but his gaze drifts down the corridor, and my brain races with worry. Is Everly walking away? Did he spot her leaving before me? Is it obvious we were in here together? But when I steal a glance down the hall she’s nowhere to be seen.
That’s good.
“Thanks, man,” I say. But I don’t make up an excuse about what I was looking for in the equipment room. The more you say, the more obvious it is that you’re covering up something.
Elias’s brow knits. “Working late?”
“Or hardly working,” I joke, keeping it casual. I nod to the end of the corridor, a subtle sign I should go.
But maybe he doesn’t do subtle since he doesn’t let up. “Anything you need in the equipment room?”
The dude doesn’t sound suspicious, but the fact that he’s asking the question tells me he is.
Think fast.
This fucker wants Everly’s job. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her from him. “Actually, I need a Sharpie. I was going to sign a hockey stick for you to give away during the next home game. If you want to, that is?”
Here’s hoping a distraction play works.
His gray eyes pop. A smile forms on his face, big and wide. “I’ve got a Sharpie on me.”
“Great. Then I can do it now.”
I head back into the equipment room, grab a stick, and return to the hall, signing it for the guy I hate, then thrusting it at him. “Here you go.”
“I seriously appreciate this so much,” he says, beaming, and I guess the play worked.
“Happy to help,” I say, then nod to the exit. “Got to catch the bus.”
“Have a great road trip.”
“We will.” I take off, but make a speedy pit stop in the locker room before I go. If I’m fast, I’ll have just enough time.
25
THE REAL CLICHÉ
Everly
I’m still amped up a half hour later, even after I’ve edited then posted the video of Max’s comment on the team’s social media. I’ll put it on his feed in the morning. With that done, I slide into bed in a cami and sleep shorts. I open the nightstand drawer, reaching for my favorite toy, then stop. I should take a picture now for him. Since, well, these panties are coming off in three, two, one…
But my phone buzzes before I set up the shot. A text from Max lights the screen.
Max: There’s a package coming to you in ten minutes. Local courier. Can you meet thedriver at the door?
I have no idea what it could be but I’m sure I want it.
Everly: Yes.
I grab a hoodie and tug it on, then wait for a notification that the driver’s arrived. When it lands, I race downstairs and open the front door. A man in a ball cap hands me a gift bag that’s stapled closed and says, “Here you go.”
Anticipation curls through my veins as I rush back upstairs to my home. The second I’m inside, I rip open the staples, and…I know. My nose twitches, and I jam my hand in the bag faster than a kid dipping her paw into a cookie jar. When I pull out the delivery, I swallow roughly.
It’s his shirt. The one he wore tonight after the game. The white dress shirt, and it smells like his cologne. I bring it to my nose. I close my eyes, feeling weak in the best of ways. Feeling woozy as I savor the scent of him. What is he even wearing right now on the team plane? No idea, but I guess he has multiple dress shirts in his stall and grabbed another one so he could send this to me—and send it quickly. But then again, services like Uber Connect are ridiculously fast.