Page 9

I’m in the bathroom, brushing dry shampoo through second-day hair, when Emma knocks lightly on the open door.

She leans against the frame, casual, like we’re closer than we are.

“Hey,” she says, not pushing. “You doing anything tonight?”

I glance at her in the mirror. “No plans.”

She nods, playing with the end of her sleeve. “There’s this place I like—Bar Lucid. Chill. Loud enough to be distracting. You should come.”

I hesitate.

She doesn’t press. Just smiles at me like it doesn’t matter either way.

I almost say no. But I’ve been here less than two weeks, and I’ve done nothing outside of work. My nights have been reruns, frozen dumplings, and anxiety I can’t name. I haven’t gone out with girlfriends in months. Haven’t said yes to anything that wasn’t mandatory.

Maybe it’s a good time to try.

“Okay,” I say. “Yeah. Sure.”

She brightens, just a little. “Cool. Get ready. We’ll leave at nine.”

I get ready in silence, curling my lashes with hands that still shake sometimes.

I don’t do nightlife. I don’t do casual outfits that show skin. I don’t do girls’ nights out.

But tonight, I will try.

Jeans that hug. A tank that dips low. Lip gloss I haven’t worn since dorm life in college. I don’t love how I look, but I don’t hate it either.

When I step into the living room, Emma’s sitting on the arm of the couch, legs crossed, eyes sharp. She smiles.

“You clean up nice.”

I smile back, unsure how to respond. She offers me a shot glass filled with something clear.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Courage,” she says, smiling at me a little too much.

I drink.

It burns on the way down, and I cough once, embarrassed.

She laughs. Not unkindly.

She’s staring at me with eyes that are too curious. I have to swallow the lump in my throat.

“Ready?” she perks up.

I nod, wondering what the hell I just got myself into.

The bar is tucked behind a row of warehouses. Neon-pink lighting spills out of the windows. There’s a line out front, mostly women, dressed like they have something to prove.

Emma flashes the bouncer a grin, and we’re waved inside like regulars. I walk past him, confused, but follow Emma in anyway.

The bass hits first. Then the warmth, thick and heady, like perfume and sweat and sex. The lights flicker violet and blue, strobing across shoulders and eyes and the curve of mouths too close together.

I trail behind Emma to the bar. She orders two drinks—something dark and citrusy. The rim of my glass is sticky.

I sip. It’s strong.

I nurse it while we sit along the back wall.

I’m watching everything: the way people move, how easy it is for strangers to touch each other here.

How no one hesitates. But then I realize that there’s a lot of women and beautiful men here.

I glance around wondering where the hell I am, but Emma just smiles at me.

I feel a little dizzy. From the drink or the noise or the fact that I’m here, doing something I wouldn’t have done six months ago.

“Ever been with a girl?” Emma asks casually, loud enough to be heard but quiet enough not to draw attention.

I blink. “No.”

She doesn’t tease. Doesn’t smirk. Just sips her drink.

“You ever think about it?” she asks after a beat.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I’ve never… I mean, it’s not that I’m against it.”

“But?”

I stare at the ice in my glass. “I think I’m just… not.”

She nods, unfazed. “That’s fair.”

I wait for something else—pushback, pressure. My heart races fast. But she turns to watch the dance floor instead, like she asked out of curiosity, not expectation.

I breathe a little easier.

Until someone slides into the space beside me. A woman. Short hair. Leather jacket. Eyes like a dare.

“Hey,” she says to me. “You’ve got a killer mouth.”

I glare at her, startled. “What? My mouth?”

She leans in. “Wanna dance?”

I hesitate, looking to Emma to save me.

I’ve had two drinks. My skin’s warm. My pulse is buzzing under the surface.

I glance at Emma, who raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say a word.

And I think— Why not?

We’re girls. We love to dance. I love to dance.

So, I stand and follow her to the dance floor.

The woman’s hands are on my hips the second we reach the middle of the floor. She smells like mint and something smoky.

We move. I try to keep up. I try to stop thinking. I try to be the kind of girl who lets go, even just for a night.

Her hands slide to my back. Her mouth is near my ear. Then she turns me to face her and kisses me like this is normal behavior.

I stiffen, suddenly flashes of my ex and his friend running its course through my body like it remembers everything.

A shiver takes over me, and I’m frozen.

“Come here,” she says, and it’s her voice that brings me back to this moment.

I lean in because she doesn’t sound like Tyler, look like Tyler, feel like Tyler.

Maybe I just need feel something— anything —with someone else other than Tyler.

But all I feel is her lip ring pressing into my mouth. The stick of her gloss against mine.

And I pull back, not feeling it.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I thought—” I shake my head. “I’m not.”

She smiles, easy. “No big. You’re cute, though.”

She disappears back into the crowd.

I return to the table. Emma hands me water without a word.

I drink as she watches me.

“She tried to kiss me,” I say eventually. I drink more water. “I’m not gay. I kind of knew that.”

She shrugs. “Now you know for sure.”

There’s no judgment. No heat.

“I want to leave,” I blurt out.

She shrugs. “Okay.”

The next day at work, I feel it all in my bones. The fatigue, the self-consciousness, the lingering embarrassment of being kissed by a woman. The violation that my ex did living in my bones. It takes everything in me to not call in sick, but my work is all that I have for a distraction.

I show up early again. No makeup. Ponytail. Head down.

Riley’s waiting for me with another list—longer than the last. Tape count. Ice packs. Wrist sleeves. Email follow-ups. And—

“Oh, and Slater Castellano,” he says. “You’re following up with him again.”

I hesitate. “He already said no.”

“So, change his mind.”

He walks away before I can respond.

Slater’s in the weight room. Same rack. Same hoodie. Same rhythm like violence.

I wait for him to finish his set.

“Hey,” I say, quiet but not timid. “I have to ask again about the eval.”

He doesn’t look at me. “Still no.”

“Okay.”

I turn to leave.

He speaks without turning. “That’s all?”

I pause. His tone catching me off guard.

He grabs the towel from the bench, slings it over his shoulder, and turns slowly toward me.

“Not even gonna fight for it?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Riley begs.”

“I’m not going to beg,” I reassure him.

I turn to walk again.

His voice drops low—sharp as a blade. “I thought you people care most about an athlete’s well-being?”

I stop.

“I think you’re a grown man who can make his own decisions,” I reassure him as professionally as I can, meeting his eye.

He’s unreadable. Cold. But something flashes across his face.

I just nod once and walk away.

My hands are shaking when I walk out, but my spine stays straight the whole way out.

I go to Riley’s office. He’s at his desk, scribbling something on a clipboard, frowning like he always does when he’s multitasking.

“He won’t do it,” I say.

Riley looks up. “Slater?”

I nod. “Didn’t even let me finish the question.”

He exhales through his nose, scrubs a hand over his jaw. “Fucking Castellano.”

“I can try again later,” I offer, though I already know it’ll go the same way.

Riley shakes his head. “It’s not on you. He’s impossible. Always has been.”

He tosses the clipboard onto the desk with a little too much force.

“But he’s good,” Riley mutters. “That’s the thing. He’s so fucking good at playing. I care about him, you know? Want him to get better before it can get worse. It’s a tough love thing, I think.”

I wait, quiet. He’s not talking to me anymore—just letting it leak out.

“I’ve watched a hundred guys flame out after injuries. Come back too fast, try to hide shit. Slater hides everything. But you can see it. The way he favors his right hip, the extra stretch before he shoots. He’s not right.”

“So, bench him,” I say, before I can stop myself.

He huffs a dry laugh. “You don’t bench Slater Castellano unless he’s dragging a broken leg behind him. And even then, he’d just fight you for the ice.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything.

Riley waves me off. “Just do what you can. Keep an eye on him. Let me know if he gets worse.”

I nod and leave, but his words echo behind me, he’s not right .

By the time I get home, I’m bone tired. My skin smells like sweat and disinfectant and effort, and all I want is to microwave leftovers and scroll mindlessly on my phone until I fall asleep.

But the second I open the door, I know something’s off.

There’s music—something slow and breathy, coming from the living room.

I step inside, and—

“Oh my god.”

Emma is on the couch. Naked. So is the girl straddling her.

There’s a limb situation I can’t decipher, and I don’t want to.

Emma looks up mid-moan and grins. “Hey, Sage.”

I spin around so fast I nearly drop my bag. “Nope. Nope nope—”

“Sorry!” she calls after me, not sounding sorry at all.

I bolt down the hall to my room, shielding my eyes like I’ve walked in on a horror movie instead of very consensual porn.

Once I’m inside my bedroom, I shut the door and breathe, unpacking my day.

I’m not shocked. Emma never pretended to be shy. But still. The couch.

The way she just looked at me sends anxiety ripping through me.

Maybe I need to find a new place to live.