Page 11 of The False Start (Off the Bench)

My disgust must show on my face because Brayden speaks up.

“My teammates.” The derision in his voice is surprising.

I snort. “Not a fan?”

He raises one eyebrow. “Nah, not of that group.”

Katie has glued herself to the loudest of the bunch, a guy with dark hair who loops his arm around her waist.

“Are they your friends?” he asks, indicating the manic pixie that is Katie Chen and Lila next to her, looking slightly lost amongst the new group.

I nod.

“Watch out for them then.” With that cryptic message, he pushes off the bar and walks over to a small knot of people near the window, leaving me to determine why I’m keeping an eye on my friends.

I make the rounds for the next twenty minutes, playing the good host and thanking people for coming—mother would be proud—until I can’t take the small talk anymore and find Theo.

“How much longer do you expect this to go on for?” I ask, pulling him away from the giggling blonde latched onto his arm.

He waves me off. “Until people leave, I guess. The caterers are here for another hour.”

I groan, glancing around the room, my eyes landing on something that makes me see red.

Lila is nearly pressed up against one of those ice skating morons—the ones I was just warned against—his hand low on her back as she giggles into her cup.

Oh hell no.

Before I can register what I’m doing, I’m stomping over to their group.

Her eyes widen in shock all traces of the giggly, sultry girl a moment ago gone.

She pushes herself away, but the asshole she’s talking to pulls her back in with a tug on her arm, and she ends up flat against him.

I’m not watching where I’m going, and a basketball player knocks into me, the extra six inches he has on me enough to send me into the glass coffee table in front of the couch.

I fall through it with a crash, and it shatters around me.

“Oh my God, Cal are you okay?” She pushes away from the hockey player and kneels next to me, careful to avoid the broken glass. Bright red streams of blood are running down my arm, dripping onto my hardwood floor. I can barely feel the stinging through the green haze clouding my mind.

“Oof bro, that looks bad,” the hockey player tells me.

“You don’t say,” I mutter, piercing him with a glare.

His grin falters. “Can I, uh, get you anything?”

“It’s my house,” I bite out.

“Sweet, man, you’ve got a nice place.” The grin is back.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Cal—” Lila starts.

“You didn’t hit your head, right?” someone asks. I shake my head.

“You need to make sure you get the glass out,” Katie chirps from her perch on the lap of the loud player from earlier. I narrow my eyes at her.

“Here, I can help you.” Lila offers her hand to help me up, and I take it, ignoring the twinge in my elbow.

I stare at my bleeding arm as my breathing returns to normal and a stampede of people move toward my door, muttering. I ignore them, focusing on a drop of blood running down my pinky.

“Theo,” I call out over the music, and he strides over. “Parties over.”

“Seriously?” Theo asks. I hold up my arm, a piece of glass visible in my forearm. “Yeah okay.”

“We’ll clean the cuts,” Lila says, pulling my good arm as she leads me toward my bathroom.

I gesture toward my bedroom door, further down the hall where she follows me through it and into my ensuite. I’m suddenly grateful I keep my room neat as I track her eyeing my belongings all nicely put away.

“Can you take your shirt off?” she asks, once we’re in my bathroom.

Her eyes take in my chest as I undo the buttons and pull it free, flexing slightly more than necessary.

She motions for me to sit on the toilet seat.

I do, lifting my arm to try and stanch the blood flow as she wets a washcloth under the tap, her hands shaking slightly.

She gently washes away the blood, removing the bigger pieces of glass with ease.

She works in silence, and I watch her. I should probably feel guilty for stomping over to claim her like a cave man, but given that it led us here I can’t bring myself to regret it.

Coach will be pissed since I’ll have to take it easy until the cuts all heal, but none of them feel deep enough to warrant stitches.

I tell her that there’s gauze under the sink, which she wraps around the wounds. When she’s finally done, I speak.

“Thanks, you didn’t have to do this.”

“I know, I wanted to.” She meets my gaze and smiles. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I swallow. “Can you do me a favor though?”

“What?”

“Stay away from those hockey players?”

She laughs, but there’s no humor in it though. “What is this, some kind of weird competition?”

“No.” I don’t elaborate.

“That’s not your place.” I meet her eyes, and they’re blazing.

I stare at her, unflinching. I’ve already overplayed my hand.

“You’re not my boyfriend.”

“Oh, do you have one of those again?” I snap, regretting the words immediately as she sucks in a sharp breath, her gaze dropping from mine.

“I don’t know,” she says quietly. “But we were just talking.”

“Talking wasn’t all he had in mind. I mean, come on, Lila, he was practically on top of you.”

“Right, because that’s so much worse than what you and I did on that dance floor.”

I inhale sharply. We haven’t discussed that night once, it’s been taboo. Even as it floods my memories during every shower.

“That was different.”

She laughs darkly. “How so?”

Because it was me. I stand and step toward her. “You know it was.”

She glances down. “You need to keep it elevated.” I didn’t realize she was holding a towel, but as she wraps it gingerly around my elbow, her eyes soften.

“Thanks,” I say thickly, the pain throbbing more intently now.

“I might have missed some of the smaller pieces of glass.”

“It’s fine.” I straighten my arm and flex, and though there’s a dull throbbing, I don’t have any sharp pains.

“Lila—” I start, but her eyes fly up to meet mine, full of panic.

“I need to go, Katie’s waiting.” She leaves my room at a near run. My place is nearly clear of guests; the caterers are cleaning up their own spaces, and Theo, Katie, and a few others linger in the living room.

“Lila, wait,” I call after her, catching her as she pulls Katie toward my front door. “Please, we need to talk.”

“No, we don’t, Cal. We really, really don’t.

” The pleading look is what gets me, my heart nearly cracks open at the vulnerability there.

I know I’ll give her whatever she wants, because she’s not asking for much.

She’s not chasing after me for my money or status like girls did in prep school, or latching on to me knowing an NFL contract is in my future like they did in college or throwing themselves at me now for a chance at a slice of fame.

If all she wants right now is my friendship, she can have it.

“Okay, Lila. Whatever you need,” I say softly. She gives me what could almost be a smile and turns to leave.

She disappears down the hall before I close the door and survey the mess in my living room.