Page 46 of Match Penalty

Chapter Thirteen

Cammy

I wake to the pattering of raindrops against the window and the darkness of the room. An alarm clock nearby reads that it’s just before three in the morning. I stir against the pillow, trying to burrow deeper into the mattress, but it’s no use—this isn’t my bed.

The sheets are too smooth, the pillow too firm, and the room smells distinctly of JP. The smell of his cologne, the faint musk of sweat from long practices, and something I can only describe as… him.

This isn’t my room and I’m not in my apartment.

Flashes of last night flood back in, resolving my disorientation. I didn’t get drunk last night, but I still remember the feeling of my stomach beginning to turn on me only half way into our girls’ night.

The club, the overly sweet cocktails that have my stomach churning just thinking about them, the overzealous DJ and his relentless bass amplifying it all. And then I remember JP steadying me, stepping in to help me at the bar, becoming a human shield to protect me, buying our drinks. Then I remember feeling sick, his arms anchoring me to him as he guided me through the chaos to take me home. His soft reassurances as he insisted on getting me there safely. Except… we didn’t go to my place.

The memory of leaving my purse at Brynn’s comes back to me.

I sit up carefully, my head feeling a little woozy with sleep and a slight headache, but so much better than when I left the club. There’s a mug of chamomile tea gone cold, a plate of crackers I didn’t touch, and water with a lemon slice sitting on the nightstand with two Tylenol. My phone’s plugged into a charger I didn’t bring, but clearly, JP thought of everything.

The blanket slides off my shoulders as I swing my legs over the edge of his bed. The plush carpeted bedroom floor touches my feet, as I look around. JP’s packed Hawkeyes duffel bag withDumontstitched on the side. The team leaves later this morning for their first out of town game.

Something else catches my eye—a figure stretched out on the floor beside the bed.

JP.

One arm is flung over his face, the other resting on his chest—he’s asleep on the hard floor. It’s not lost on me that he didn’t try to sleep next to me on his memory foam mattress. A far better option for a professional athlete who’s expected to play his first away game later tonight.

He could’ve taken the couch. It would have been far more comfortable.

Something warm stirs in my chest—he stayed. And also gave me space, not trying to use this moment as a time to get closer when I was too weak to care.

The dim glow creeping through the curtains from the city lights softens the sharp lines of his jaw and the strong column of his neck. I’ve never seen JP in an unflattering light—in fact, I don't think there is such a thing, but this right here—him asleep after taking care of me. This might be my favorite of all.

Without thinking, I crouch beside him, my hand lifting slightly before hovering over his cheek. I don’t touch him, but the thought lingers.

“JP,” I whisper, my voice uncertain and quiet.

Should I be waking him up? Maybe it’s better to let him sleep before he leaves town.

He stirs, his brow furrowing before his arm drops away. Slowly, his eyes flutter open, blinking a few times and then quickly sharpening with concern as they find mine.

“Cammy?” His voice is thick with sleep, but his worry slices through it. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

I swallow against the lump in my throat. “Yeah. I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, not exactly,” he says.

“Couldn’t sleep either?”

He chuckles softly. “It's hard to sleep when I know you’re in my shirt, sleeping in my bed.”

Heat climbs up my neck at his admission.

“I didn’t mean to take your room. I didn’t even realize—”

“It’s okay,” he cuts in, his tone gentle. “You didn’t feel well, and I wanted you to be comfortable. Do you feel better?”

“Yeah… I do, thank you. But you’re sleeping on the floor.” My vision glides over him, stretched out in a blanket that barely covers his feet.

“I wanted to be close in case you needed me. I was worried about you,” he says, his voice soft. “I thought about lying next to you but you’d been drinking, and with our history…” His words trail off, but I know where they’re headed.

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