Page 18

The neon lights of Cheer’s Bar cast everything in shades of red and amber, but I can barely see straight through the haze of pain radiating from my hip.

What the hell am I doing here? Sure, I have the money to drink myself into oblivion every night, but I know that when it comes to real ethics, to being a decent human being, I’ve got nothing.

I shouldn’t have threatened Riley. I know that. But the thought of him using Sage’s pretty face against me, manipulating her kindness to get close to me—it makes something violent unfurl in my chest.

My phone buzzes against the bar top.

Sage: Tonight?

One simple word from Sage, and my entire world tilts sideways. My hip is screaming, a constant reminder of everything that’s broken in my body and my life. Maybe I should take her up on whatever she’s offering.

Another text follows immediately.

Sage: Let me help

Sage: Your hip

I stare at the screen, then shove the phone back in my pocket without responding.

The guys from the team are three stools down, making eyes at some college girls who probably think dating a hockey player is the height of sophistication. Henderson’s already working his charm, and I can see the girls giggling and leaning closer.

I’m not in the mood for an empty fuck. Not tonight.

I throw some bills on the bar and leave without saying goodbye.

When I pull into my driveway, she’s there. Sage. Sitting on my front steps like she belongs there, like this is normal. A piece of me wants to be furious—she’s trespassing, invading my space, inserting herself into my life without permission.

But I can’t find it in me to be pissed.

I climb out of my car, favoring my right leg, and look down at her. “Why are you waiting at my house like some lovesick girl?”

She laughs—actually laughs—and the sound is so genuine it catches me off guard. “You know... I see you, Slater. Your rage is from the pain, so I’m assuming your pain is bad right now.”

I let out a harsh laugh, mocking her amateur psychology. “You think you have me all figured out, huh?”

But her accuracy is spot on, and that’s what throws me off. She’s not accusing me of being high or having anger problems or being a violent psychopath. She thinks it’s the pain. That’s something I can live with, something that doesn’t make me feel like a complete monster.

I like her just a tiny bit now.

I unlock the front door and hold it open for her.

“Where were you tonight?” she asks, walking to the guest bedroom.

I consider not answering. Consider telling her to mind her own business like I normally would. But something about the way she’s looking at me—like I’m a person instead of a problem—makes me answer.

“Bar with some of the guys.”

“Oh. The bar? You do that?”

I lift a brow at her.

The question throws me. It’s not what I expected her to ask. Before I can formulate an answer, she places her hands on my hip, and everything else falls away. Her touch grounds me in a way that nothing else does.

She stretches my leg, working to reach the hip bone, and the pain cuts deep—deeper than usual, radiating into my groin like a knife. I grit my teeth and let her work.

“You’re tighter than normal,” she observes, releasing the stretch. “Can I ice you?”

I nod, and she follows me to the kitchen. She works in silence, not asking questions, not trying to fill the space with meaningless conversation. Sometimes it’s annoying to be questioned constantly, but I find I like her presence. It’s... peaceful.

“How’s your boyfriend?” I ask as she prepares the ice pack.

She shakes her head. “I lied to you.”

I act surprised, raising an eyebrow.

“I actually moved here because my last boyfriend was a psychopath and did some really messed up things.”

I can’t help but smirk. “Must be your pretty privilege. Attracting all the wrong kinds of guys.”

She places the ice at my hip, and I watch her eyes dart lower before she catches herself. The flush that creeps up her neck is almost worth the pain.

“I think you made a mistake threatening Riley,” she says quietly.

The peaceful moment shatters. “No? He’s using you to get to me because he thinks you have a pretty face, remember? And for what?” I scoff.

“To help,” she says, patting my knee. I watch her hand, not liking the casual touch. “He’s trying to help you, Slater.”

“You’re helping.” I place my hand on top of hers, and she pulls away like she just got burned.

“This is very unprofessional,” she swallows, suddenly nervous. “I shouldn’t be here in a private matter, but I really am trying to help. But if this is going to continue, you cannot put your hands on my neck ever again, Slater. You cannot be threatening my boss.”

“Does he know you’re here?”

“No, I lied to him remember. Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

“So, you’re really here to help me?”

She shrugs, suddenly uncertain. “Maybe I should go. This was just overall a bad idea. I did what I could. I’m going to go.”

“Stay,” I say, the word coming out like a clear demand. “My hip is killing me.”

She pauses, studying my face. “You’ve never admitted that before.”

“Yeah, well.” I grab the ice pack. “Ice isn’t helping. Stretch me. Come on.”

She follows me back to the guestroom, and I lie down on the bed again. When she starts massaging the deep muscle, her hands working dangerously close to my groin, I have to focus on the ceiling to keep my breathing steady.

“Sorry,” she says, her voice softer now. “I need to dig deep to get that muscle. I can stop at any moment. Just tell me. Does it feel okay?”

I nod, not trusting my voice.

Silence follows, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s charged with something I don’t want to name, something that makes every nerve ending in my body hyperaware of her touch.

And for the first time in years, there’s something in my chest that feels like warmth.

I sit up, take her hand off me, and say, “Okay. That’s good.”

My raging boner is a dead giveaway, but she needs to leave right now.

Without saying a word, she leaves. Watching her leave pushes me over an edge I didn’t know I was on. I hear the front door click and I lay back, shoving my hand in my pants. I start stroking myself at the thought of her hands on me. That pretty face. Those pretty curls. Those mesmerizing eyes.

She rounds the corner as soon as I pull my dick out of the shorts. Her eyes widen at the sight of my swollen cock.

“Shit!” she yelps, covering her eyes frantically. She hides behind the wall and says, “I left my notebook.”

I put my dick back in my shorts, grab her notebook, and flip through it as I slowly make my way to her.

I round the corner and hold out her notebook. “Here.”

She’s nervous as hell as she takes it. “I’m so sorry.”

She turns and leaves without another word or glance.

My heart races as I watch her leave.

Hmm.

Another feeling.