Page 6 of Anti-Player

Chapter Three

Paige

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I can not be crushing on Mikel Hause.

I know it in my heart. I know it in the contours of my soul.

And yet, here I am, Googling him on my phone as I delay in the cafe bathroom. I'm hyper aware that he's just yards away at a tiny round table where our knees briefly touched underneath. I'd blame poor design but I'm not even mad about it. I liked feeling his knees against mine. I thrilled at the contact.

Rushing into the bathroom to clear my thoughts with cold water and a mirror stare down didn't work. My lower belly is still thrumming. I'm into him. Dear God, I'm super into him.

Googling him brings up articles about his success, his money, his company. I'm able to learn he graduated with a Masters in computer science before becoming one of the many tech-bros in Silicon Valley. But his social media is barren. How can that be?

He said he'd watched my Fawn of the Dead stream, so he knew how to find that. Why is his digital footprint so invisible? Is he like me, using a secret alias?

Frowning, I thumb through the search results some more. In the end, all I find are photos of him with a cute black labradoodle in a news article about some blue-tooth chip he helped fund for keeping track of a pet's vitals and records.

Holy hell, I think, staring at the photos. Mikel is shirtless on a beach. His body is half twisted in motion, a Frisbee flying from his fingers towards his dog. The position highlights every muscle in Mikel's lean body. The ocean water pales next to the blue of his eyes.

Someone enters the bathroom; I jump, putting my phone away in a hurry as another girl walks by into a stall. Breathing heavily, calming myself, I give a final look in the mirror. Narrowing my eyes, I point at my reflection and mouth Stop being horny! Then I stroll into the cafe's main area.

Mikel sees me, locks eyes with me.

Okay. Still horny.

I make myself smile as I approach him. “Sorry,” I say, reaching for my coffee mug, searching for another excuse to create space and get my brain straight, “I just got back and now I'm leaving again. Coffee refill.”

He lifts an eyebrow and half-smirks. “No need. I refilled it for you.”

Blinking, I see he's telling the truth. My mug is steaming with fresh coffee. “Oh, thanks,” I say, sitting down carefully. It's a thoughtful gesture. I'm not used to guys noticing my needs before I do, never mind taking care of them.

“It's nothing,” he says with a shrug. “Especially considering what you're doing for me.”

“And what's that?” I ask warily.

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