Page 19

I shrug as a knock comes to the front door. “Grif, got to go…”

He chuckles, “Talk tomorrow”

I hop off the couch and rush to the front door. My stomach is grumbling, ready for grub . When I open the door, Layla isstanding there all smiles with pizza in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

“Your favorite person in the world is here!”

I giggle and invite her in taking the pizza from her hand.

“Where’s the salad?”

“What? there’s veggies on the pizza.”

“You are a mess…come in.” I chuckle, “Mi Casa tu Cassà,” Layla tips her head

“Have a seat…I’ll grab some plates.” I plop the pizza on the coffee table before going back into the kitchen to get things. By the time I am back, Layla has folded herself on the couch—a large slice of pizza in her hand. “Hey, you couldn’t even wait for me?”

She smiles sheepishly around the bite, chewing furiously. “Sorry friend. I’m starving. Last night Cody came over and I swear he wore me to the bone. I’ve been ravenous ever since.”

I feel a bolt of jealousy rush through me, but I push it away in favor of a slice.

I’m honestly happy that Layla’s found someone she likes and is clearly enjoying spending time with him. But I’d be lying if I say I’m not a little envious. The memory of rough hands sliding over my body nearly have me gasping out. I hide my reaction behind taking a large bite of my pizza.

“So, tell me everything about your first day,” Layla says. “Was it everything you dreamed and more? Did Griffin lose his shit when he realized you’re not only not going to work for the reapers, but you’re working for the Cyclones ?”

I chuckle at that last bit. All of our friends know how hard he was pulling for me to join them. “He knows and is continuing to push but I’m ignoring him. And my first day was fine. I didn’t actually work. Just got my badge and stuff and saw where I will be setting up shop and it isnice.”

Layla nods “Awesome. What about the menfolk?”She wiggles her eyes. “ Did you meet any of those hot hockey players? Anyone in particular you have your eye on?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t meet any of them yet, and absolutely not. You know I don’t mix business with banging. Especially not when they come with team-issued jockstraps.”

Getting involved with a hockey player was exciting once upon a time…Back when I was young and didn’t know any better.

I’ve seen what happens when you mix it up at the office—how fast a kiss turns rumor, and a fling becomes a warning label no one bothers to peel off. But I’m not young or naïve anymore.

I know exactly the kind of game those guys play. I love Griffin, but if he wasn’t my brother, I’d walk right past his cocky ass, too. And he’s tame compared to some guys he shares a locker room with. They collect women like trading cards—bend them over on Friday, forget their names by Saturday, and start all over again by Sunday brunch.

Hard pass. I’ve already been burned once by a guy who thought “exclusive” meant until his next road trip.

“Besides,” I say, a little heat creeping into my cheeks, “afterhim? I’m pretty sure I developed a taste for getting wrecked by strangers with perfect timing and filthy hands.”

Layla groans. “Still mad you didn’t get his number. Or, like, ask for a clue to his actual identity.”

“Trust me, I’m mad at me too,” I mutter, sipping my wine, hoping it’ll smooth out the flutter that always starts low in my belly when I think about that night. “He was… different. Not just hot, butdeliberate. Like he’d been waiting to touch someone exactly like me.”

Layla’s watching me, so I shrug. Light. Breezy. Like I’m not still wrecked from one night.

“He had this way of moving—slow, controlled. Like he had all the time in the world, but still made me feel like he was starving for me.

“And that mask…” I trail off, because saying it out loud makes it feel even more ridiculous. Like a fantasy I should’ve outgrown.

“There was something about not seeing his whole face. It made everything else sharper. More focused.”

What I don’t say: how I slipped away before the lights came on.

How I didn’t wait to hear him ask for my name. Or my number.

And how I didn’t want to watch him not ask.