Page 14

She walks out the front door with that same stiff posture she walked in with—straight-backed, shoulders squared, like she’s forcing herself not to look shaken.

I watch her through the cameras. One hand still on the edge of the bed, the other gripping my phone like I’m not the one slipping.

Her figure shrinks on the screen, her hair catching the porch light just as another figure steps into frame.

Lexi.

She’s in stilettos and a leather mini, glossy lips already curled into a satisfied smirk.

Sage doesn’t even glance at her. Just keeps walking like she didn’t just come out of a man’s house at 8:55 p.m. after being pulled between his legs and told she was full of shit.

Lexi watches her for half a second before slipping inside like she owns the place. She’s already talking before the door shuts behind her.

“Who was that?” she asks, stepping into the kitchen, eyeing the half-full glass of water Sage didn’t touch.

I click my phone off and toss it on the counter.

“Some bullshit from work.”

Lexi’s eyes narrow just enough to tell me she doesn’t buy it.

I don’t care.

She leans into me, her perfume thick and familiar, nails dragging over my abs like she’s tracing everyone she missed last time. I grab her waist and lift her clean off the floor, setting her ass down on the counter without breaking stride.

“You missed me or something?” she purrs.

“Shut up.”

I yank her thighs apart and step between them, tugging her thong aside with one hand and pulling my dick out with the other. No warm-up. No buildup. I’m already hard.

I slide into her in one rough thrust, her body jerking from the force of it.

She gasps, nails digging into my shoulders, but she doesn’t tell me to stop.

“Fuck, Slater,” she moans.

I bury my face in her neck and fuck her hard enough to rattle the glass behind her. Her moans bounce off the tile, and it’s loud, messy, raw.

But not enough.

My brain won’t quiet.

All I can think about is the weight of Sage’s stare, the curve of her mouth when she refused to back down. That little fucking pulse in her throat when I touched her. That pause—like her body wasn’t sure if it wanted to run or stay.

Lexi arches into me, lips at my ear. “Jesus, what the hell’s gotten into you? Always just a fuck then done.”

I don’t answer because that’s exactly what this is, what this will always be.

She doesn’t want the truth anyway.

And I’m too busy trying to exorcise a ghost I shouldn’t even have.

Lexi exhales hard when I pull out of her, grabbing for me like she’s expecting post-game cuddling or some shit.

I back up, shoving my dick back into my shorts, grabbing paper towels to clean her up and then I wipe my hand.

She doesn’t hop off the counter right away.

“What the hell was that?” she finally demands, breathless, panties still shoved to the side. “You usually treat me like an asshole but tonight you’re—what—even worse?”

I don’t answer. Just grab the glass Sage didn’t touch and pour it down the drain.

Lexi huffs. “You just used me.”

I glance at her. “You fucking love it.”

She slides off the counter, dragging her skirt down and adjusting her top like it makes a difference now.

“That’s not the point.”

Still not saying anything, I cross the kitchen to the hallway and lean against the wall. She’s fuming, pacing like she’s trying to decide if she wants to throw something or walk out.

“You could at least pretend I matter,” she snaps.

“You don’t,” I say, calm.

That stops her. She blinks at me.

She scoffs a laugh. “Wow. Jesus. Did you take a shot to the head in practice or something?”

Still nothing.

My arms stay crossed, my mouth shut, my stare flat.

In my head, I’m thinking about how she’s lucky I don’t shove her up against the wall and tie her wrists down until she stops talking. Stuff a sock in her mouth until she gets the message.

But I don’t.

Because I don’t want her here anymore.

Because I’m not angry at her. I’m angry at myself. At her. The one who walked out ten minutes ago and didn’t so much as blink after I put my hands on her.

Lexi stares at me like she’s expecting me to break. To say I’m joking. That I didn’t mean it.

But I just turn and walk down the hall to the bathroom, shut the door behind me, and leave her standing in my kitchen.

When I come out, the house is quiet.

Her car is gone.

And the cameras show nothing but an empty driveway.

Good.

I sit on the couch, lean forward with my elbows on my knees, and rub my hands over my face.

Because that should’ve worked.

But it didn’t.

And now I want something I have no business even thinking about.

The house is dead silent.

Lexi’s gone, but my phone won’t shut the fuck up.

Three unread messages.

Amanda: U up?

Liza: Wanna keep me company?

Shay: You said next time. This is next time.

I leave them all on read. No energy to reply tonight.

The team group chat lights up next.

Jason: Boys, we’re gonna break that power play down this time. Watch that second line try to come in high.

Rossi: If their goalie flinches again, we crash the net. Every damn time.

Trent: I want blood, baby.

My screen hovers with the keyboard open.

I don’t type a thing, remembering what happened the last time I picked on a rival team. How my brother didn’t come out alive because of it.

I throw the phone onto the couch and head to the fridge. Leftover chicken. I eat it cold. Don’t even bother with a plate. Just rip pieces off the bone with my teeth while leaning against the counter.

At some point I shower the pussy smell off me, change into clean joggers, and fall asleep on top of the sheets, fully dressed.

The next morning smells like metal and rubber.

The gym’s already humid with sweat and testosterone.

Jason and Rossi are spotting each other at the bench, yelling like idiots. Trent’s arguing with a trainer about sets vs. reps like he’s trying to win a Nobel Prize in fitness.

I slide my headphones in, but they’re dead.

Just my luck.

So, I go without them. Pull my hoodie over my head, pull the hood up, and head to the free weights.

Jason spots me and raises a hand. “Yo! You missed the best part of the convo—Trent thinks foreplay is a handshake.”

“Facts,” Trent yells from across the room. “It’s just a warm-up, not a performance.”

The guys laugh. I don’t.

Rossi grins. “Tell him, Slater. Tell him he’s gonna die alone if he keeps that energy.”

I grip the barbell tighter and start my first set.

Let them talk.

Trent swings his towel over his shoulder. “You see that girl I pulled Saturday? Girl had a tongue ring and no gag reflex. Shit was wild.”

Jason laughs. “You’re gonna get syphilis.”

“Worth it.”

I add more weight. Shoulders burning, arms shaking. Still not enough.

Rossi sighs. “Wish my girl had no gag reflex. Can’t even shove a popsicle down her throat.”

“Divorce her,” Trent jokes, and they all laugh again.

Their noise fades behind the pound of my heart and the grinding inside my skull.

Every rep feels like punishment.

Every ache in my hip, a reminder.

Every drop of sweat, not enough.

I don’t belong here. Not in this room. Not on this team. Not in my skin.

But I need to suffer.

I suffer every day for Archer.

Pain’s the only thing that reminds me I’m still alive. The only thing that doesn’t lie.

Pleasure’s a lie. Sex is a lie. Those girls texting me? They’re all a lie. They don’t know a damn thing.

I deserve the silence.

I deserve the agony.

The gym gets louder, but I don’t hear a thing anymore. Just the quiet grind of steel on steel and the voice in my head telling me to keep going.

Don’t stop.

Don’t breathe.

Don’t feel.