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He’s not Aurora’s type. At least, I don’t think. I would’ve never expected Ethan either, but he has that arrogant-asshole attitude she seems to go for.
I scoff. “That’s her bodyguard.”
Ethan slams the iPad onto the boards, shooting me an icy glare. He’s more agitated by Ricky’s behavior than by my earlier insults. I guess he blames me for hiring him.
“Relax. No worries.” Wait. Are my words running together? Or is that in my head? Was I supposed to say that out loud?
Ethan’s death glare remains undeterred, and his brows furrow deeper. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Me? I’m not the one jealous of her bodyguard.” My speech is pressured, as if the words are too big for my mouth, and I swallow hard.
Am I having a manic episode? Aurora leaving might do that.
My respirations accelerate, and now, I’m freaking out thinking about it.
Coach and Grant share a glance. I shouldn’t have busted Ethan’s balls where others could hear, but the irony of the situation isn’t lost on me. He’s about to explode while I’m not bothered by Ricky at all.
Ethan walks around the back of the bench and squats behind me, pinning me with his stern gaze. “What did you do?”
What did I do? Hiring Ricky? “Would you rather she didn’t have a bodyguard?” My face heats, and my body breaks out in a cold sweat despite the frigid air.
“Shut the fuck up.” He lowers his voice. “Your pupils are dilated, and your words are slurred. Your mouth is running more than usual. What did you take?”
Confusion turns into defensiveness, although I’ve donenothingwrong. “Seriously? I’ve been with Aurora.”
He adjusts his stance, settling in, and a wave of déjà vu hits me. I’ve seen this episode before. It’s where Coach kicks me out of morning practice because I’m hungover or maybe still drunk.
Only this time, I’m completely sober.
“What did you do last night?”
I cock my head to the side and lower my brows. “What do you think I did last night?”
“Did you go out? Did you have people over?”
“Fuck no. I was in bed, enjoying my girlfriend.” And plotting ways to tie her to me permanently.
His eyes soften, as if he believes me. That’d be a shock. “Then what is wrong with you?”
So thereissomething wrong with me? I’m not the only one sensing this psychotic break I’m having.
Not that I’m telling him that. He’d never allow me around Aurora and the baby if he thought I was a nutcase. “I must be sick. I don’t feel well.”
“Don’t feel well, how?”
Is that patience I hear in his voice?
“It comes and goes. Racing heart, nausea, dizziness…”
He scrutinizes my face, and my stomach twists, fearing he won’t trust me.
“And you haven’t taken anything?”
Tears prickle my eyes. With a sharp shake of my head that rattles my brain, I exhale forcefully. “I swear.”
Ethan stands, calling to the trainer, and Grant passes me a water bottle. “Drink up. It’s October. It’s flu season. You possibly caught something.”
Electrolytes and smelling salts do the trick. My mind clears enough to perform, and I score two goals. But the second goal has me bent over dry heaving, and Ethan pulls me.