Page 9 of The Players We Hate (Rixton U #2)

Wren

The car ride back to campus felt longer than usual. Maybe because the silence between my parents had been louder than anything they’d said all night. Or maybe because the weight of pretending—for the entire dinner—was still coiled around my shoulders like a too tight scarf.

I’d tried. God, I really tried.

Got my nails done that afternoon. I even curled my hair the way my mom always used to when I was younger. Wore one of the nicer sweaters she once called “presentable.” Yet still, it hadn’t been enough.

“You’re looking a little tired, darling,” she’d said while buttering a dinner roll. “The circles under your eyes are getting worse. You really ought to cut back on caffeine or... whatever it is that’s aging you.”

I bit my tongue. Told myself I’d imagined the glance she gave me and the slight wrinkle of her nose.

Then there was my father, going on about poll numbers, campaign stops, and how essential the university’s athletics were to securing the youth vote .

“As long as the Wolves keep winning, in both football and hockey, we’ve got Rixton’s backing locked,” he said with a politician’s grin, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes.

Like the entire school was a stage set for his re-election. Every win was another notch in his approval ratings. Every player was another face in a campaign ad.

He didn’t ask how my classes were going. Didn’t mention the internship I had applied for. Didn’t ask if I was happy.

I wasn’t even sure he remembered my major.

By the time I climbed out of the SUV, my head was pounding and my smile felt as though it had been carved from stone.

“Thank you, Greg,” I said quietly to the driver, who nodded and stepped back toward the curb.

I adjusted the hem of my coat and pulled my purse higher on my shoulder, nodding to the night security officer stationed outside the building. He gave me a polite wave and a soft “Welcome back, Miss Perry,” as I pushed through the doors.

The lobby was quiet, dimly lit, with only the hum of vending machines and the click of my heels echoing on the tile.

I exhaled slowly, already imagining the feel of my softest sweatshirt and the blessed silence of my room. I didn’t even care if Alisa was already home. I needed to be out of the world for a minute.

But then, I collided with someone. Hard.

I stumbled back, my purse sliding down my arm, the to-go bag from dinner teetering in my hand.

Strong hands steadied me before I could hit the floor.

“Shit, sorry,” the voice started, low and familiar .

My head jerked up, and my eyes met with Talon’s. My chest seized.

His hoodie was rumpled around the collar like he’d dragged it on after a workout, and the way his brow furrowed made the air catch in my throat.

“You okay?”

I nodded, breath catching. “Yeah. I-I wasn’t looking.”

We stood there, only a breath apart. The quiet pressed in, my pulse hammering in my ears, my heart split between running from him and giving in.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, his voice low and rough around the edges. He stepped back half a pace, giving me space but not really going anywhere.

His gaze flicked past me to the black SUV idling at the curb, the driver waiting by the door. Then it drifted back to me and stayed longer than it should have, heavy with the knowing that I wasn’t the same girl from that night.

And maybe I wasn’t.

Not after the way my mother looked me up and down and said, “You cleaned up well.”

Not after my father steered the conversation toward campaign polling and media appearances without ever once caring to ask a single question about me.

I’d spent the whole night trying to be small. Polished. Quiet.

And now Talon was here. Staring at me like he remembered every damn detail of the last time we were alone together. As if he was seeing through the version of me I’d tried so hard to become .

His mouth quirked slightly, the barest ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner. As if he knew exactly what memory had just flooded my head.

Heat crept up my neck.

“Come on,” he murmured, nodding toward the doors. “Let’s get you out of the spotlight.”

I didn’t even hesitate as I followed him inside.

And for once, I didn’t care who was watching.

The lobby was still and dimly lit, the soft buzz of fluorescent lights humming overhead as the glass doors shut behind us. I barely noticed how tightly I gripped the take-out bag until the crinkle of paper echoed down the hall.

Talon kept walking until we were tucked in beside the stairwell, out of view from the front desk and away from the driver still waiting outside.

He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, the sleeves of his hoodie pushed halfway up his forearms. His gaze had softened from the guarded look he wore that night. There was no teasing smirk, no cocky shield. Only a quiet, simmering focus.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said. The words came out rougher than I expected.

I blinked, unsure I’d heard him right. “What?”

His eyes stayed on mine. “Since that night. I haven’t been able to stop.”

My breath caught. Oh God.

For days, I’d kept myself moving, always one step ahead of the memory, burying myself in class and club meetings, pretending dinner with my parents hadn’t unraveled me. But the truth was, I hadn’t stopped thinking about him either .

The way his hands had moved over me, finding every curve and edge I usually tried to hide. For that one night, I wasn’t invisible. I felt seen.

I swallowed hard, forcing the words through the knot in my throat. “I… yeah. Me too.”

He exhaled, his shoulders shifting as if the confession had let some weight off. “I almost reached out. A few times.” He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes dropping to the floor. “But every time I saw you on campus, you disappeared.”

I looked away, guilt flashing through me.

He wasn’t wrong.

I’d seen him at least four times this week alone. Outside the arena. Across the quad. In the dining hall. And each time, I ducked my head or chose a different path, telling myself it was better that way.

Facing him meant facing everything that night stirred up in me. And I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.

“I didn’t know what to say,” I admitted quietly. “I didn’t want to make it any weirder.”

“Was it weird for you?”

My pulse quickened.

“No,” I whispered. “That’s the problem.”

His eyes lifted, and for the first time since that night, I saw something real flicker there. Not just desire, but recognition.

“Then why haven’t you said anything?” he asked, his voice low, rough around the edges.

I didn’t want to want you. Wanting you meant unraveling everything I’d worked so hard to hold together. And the truth was, I was scared .

But I couldn’t say any of that. So instead, I gave him the only truth I could manage.

“I thought it’d be easier if we pretended it didn’t happen.”

He took a step closer, close enough I could smell the warm cedar and soap on his skin. Close enough that I forgot how to breathe.

“Has it been?” he asked, eyes locked on mine.

I hesitated, then shook my head. “Not even a little.”

The silence between us stretched, thick and charged. Then he leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. “Then maybe we stop pretending.”

My heart thundered in my chest.

And for the first time all night, the cold, stifling weight of everything I was trying to outrun—the dinner, the campaign talk, my mother’s sideway glances—faded to white noise.

Talon wasn’t looking at me like I was a carefully packaged version of someone else. He was looking at me like I was the only one in the room. And I didn’t want to run anymore.

His gaze flicked to my mouth, and before I could second-guess it, his hand rose to cup my cheek, brushing his thumb along my jaw, as if he was memorizing the way it fit in his palm.

Then he kissed me.

Hard.

There was no hesitation this time. No wondering if we’d regret it in the morning. Just heat and hunger and a desperate pull that ignited something I hadn’t felt in days, something buried under phony dinners, hollow smiles, and the weight of pretending I was fine .

The cold concrete wall hit my back as he pressed into me, and I gasped against his mouth, the shock of it making every nerve light up. I clutched at his hoodie, pulling him closer, anchoring myself to him in a way that kept me tethered to the ground.

He groaned low in his throat, hands sliding down my sides, gripping my hips like he’d been dreaming about this. About me. His fingers flexed as he dragged my body tighter against his, as if he couldn't get close enough.

I dropped my purse to the floor with a thud, not caring where it landed, my fingers diving under his sweatshirt, clawing at the cotton, desperate to feel him.

He pulled back slightly, breathing hard. His forehead rested against mine, and his voice came out rough.

“You have no idea what you do to me.”

My breath hitched.

His lips brushed the shell of my ear as he whispered, “I’ve been hard all week thinking about you… the way you sounded. The way you felt. Fuck, Wren. I want you so bad it’s driving me insane.”

A whimper escaped me. I didn’t mean to make a sound, but I was already unraveling. The sound of my name in that voice—low and commanding—sent a shiver down my spine.

And just like that, I snapped.

I surged forward, grabbing the front of his hoodie and yanking him into me, my mouth crashing onto his like I needed him to breathe. He stumbled a step but caught himself, bracing one hand against the wall beside my head, the other sliding down to my ass and pulling me into the hard press of him .

I moaned into him, gasping when he ground his hips into mine, the friction so good it made my knees go weak.

“More,” I breathed against his mouth. “Don’t stop.”

His teeth grazed my bottom lip as he kissed me deeper, rougher. His hand slid beneath the hem of my shirt, splaying wide over my ribs.

“You make me fucking crazy,” he muttered, grinding into me again, harder this time. “You think I haven’t seen the way you walk around like none of it touched you? Like you never even cared?”

“I didn’t,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

His hands were everywhere—my waist, my thighs, my back, desperate to touch every inch of me. He lifted me effortlessly, locking my legs around his waist.

We were lost in each other. Drowning in everything we hadn’t said, everything we still wanted to.

Every thrust sent a jolt of heat through me, and I was so far gone I forgot where we were or who might see us.

Until the sharp creak of the front door swinging open split the air. Laughter rang out. Loud and jarring.

Two girls came in from the football parade, bundled in oversized sweatshirts and clutching iced drinks. Their sneakers squeaked on the tile as they turned the corner, only to freeze when they saw us.

One of them gasped. The other snorted.

“Oh my God—”

Talon tensed, and my body stiffened. Reality crashed into me like a freight train.

My cheeks flushed hot as my eyes widened, breath heaving while I scrambled to push at his chest. He let me down gently, hands falling away even as his chest heaved with every strangled breath.

I bent to grab my purse, the clasp having sprung open, its contents scattered in a trail of proof. ChapStick. Keys. A tube of mascara. I shoved them inside with shaking hands.

What the hell did I do?

I didn’t wait to answer. Couldn’t.

I backed away, my eyes flicking to the girls. One was already whispering into her phone, while the other stared at Talon like she’d seen a god.

I couldn’t breathe.

“Wren—” Talon started, reaching toward me.

But I was already moving.

“No,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “I have to go.”

And then I was gone, racing up the stairs two at a time, heart pounding, shame crawling under my skin.

I’d lost it. Right there in the lobby, where anyone could’ve seen. And still, some part of me wanted to run back to his arms and do it all over again.