Page 7 of Gabbi's Goalie

I hesitate for a brief moment, wavering. "I'll talk to her," I say instead. "If she wants to talk to you, I'll give her your number."

"Fine." He holds his hand out.

I eye it suspiciously, which makes him smile.

"I need your phone, Temptation."

"Oh. Right." I reluctantly drag it from my pocket and then hesitate before dropping it into his hand.

He looks at the case and then quirks a brow at me, his smile growing.

"Shut up," I mumble, refusing to be ashamed of my glittery purple and teal case. It's over-the-top bright and ridiculous with rhinestones around the edges, but I never lose my dang phone anymore.

"You need a password, beautiful. Your banking app is on this thing."

I gasp and grab for it, but he holds it over my head. "Stop looking at my stuff!"

"Put a password on your phone, baby."

My stomach flip-flops. I scowl daggers at him. "Don'tcall me that."

"You only hate it because you think I slept with your best friend," he murmurs, his fingers flying across my phone screen. "As soon as we clear this shit up, you'll melt every time I say it, Temptation."

"No, I won't. I mean, we aren't going to be clearing this up because you're lying."

He smirks at me, holding my phone out. By the time I slip it back into my bra, he's scowling. "Here." He shrugs out of his coat, stumbling in the process. His face pales slightly. Only then do I notice the pain swimming in his eyes.

"You need to go home, Atlas. You have a concussion," I whisper, softening toward him slightly. I can't help it. Seeing people in pain makes me sad. That's precisely why I went into nursing even though my brothers are both freaking billionaires who think I should sit at home and let them take care of me all day.

"I'm going." He steps forward, slipping his jacket around my shoulders. It settles over me like a warm hug, wrapping me in his spicy scent. "Wear this before you get me banned from my favorite bar."

"Atlas," I start to protest, but he's already weaving his way through the tables, heading toward the entrance.

I watch him go, conflicted and confused and not at all sure what the heck just happened.

"Ihadthestrangestnight," Hollie says as soon as I walk through the front door of our two-bedroom apartment. She's curled up on the sectional in her PJs, a fluffy blanket thrown over her lap. An episode of Supernatural plays on the TV. She seems…happy. Happier than she has been all week, anyway.

Did she lie about Atlas? Why would she? It just doesn't make sense.

"You tell me about yours, I'll tell you about mine," I say, kicking my shoes off and tossing my keys in the bowl on the console table before I collapse beside her on the sofa.

"I found a dog in my bed." She lays her dark head against mine, tossing her blanket across my lap. "A literal dog."

"What?" I turn to look at her. "You're serious?"

She makes big eyes at me, nodding. "I go in there with my boobs out to change, and there's this little fluffy white dog just sitting in the middle of the bed like,Hello, nice to meet you. I, too, have boobs."

I giggle, unable to help myself.

"She escaped from the new neighbor's apartment and came through my window, I guess. I thought I was seeing things. Once we stopped staring each other down likeWhat the frack, I put a shirt on and went in search of where she belonged." Hollie smiles, humor in her eyes. "Our new neighbor is Heidi, Adalynn Montgomery's sister. The dog is Daphne. She's an escape artist."

"How did she get through your window?"

"We have no idea!" Hollie cries. "She's like a foot tall and five pounds!"

"I would have peed myself if I walked in to find a dog in my bed."

"I almost did. She was just sitting there, staring at my boobs like she owned the place."