Page 42 of Match Penalty

Hearing her name spikes the dopamine receptors in my brain.

I take a long pull from my beer, buying time. The truth is, I can't stop thinking about yesterday—about how natural it felt walking through Pike's Place with her, sharing stories over pizza, seeing her smile. About how close I came to kissing her.

My pulse ticks up at the thought of her being there. Out of the office. Relaxed. Maybe even happy. I tell myself it’s curiosity. Nothing more.

My imagination instantly conjures up a dozen mental images I have no business entertaining. Her in some kind of short dress. Her hair loose, her smile lighting up the room. Probably surrounded by guys who don’t have to fight their past just to stand next to her.

He leans back in his chair and takes another long swig of beer. “But hey, don’t come if you don’t want to. More room for me to swoop in.”

Hunter snorts from his spot at the bar. “He’s baiting you to come,” he tells me. “Nice try, Mäk. We all know you’ve got eyes for the good doctor.”

Dr. Kendall Hensen—the new Hawkeyes in-house doctor after Dr. Omar retired at the end of last season.

Hunter leans in toward me, both of us still focused on the game in front of us. “Word is, Kendall is back from her conference, and she’s going out with the girls. Mäk doesn’t want to go alone—needs an entourage.”

Aleksi shoots a glare in his direction and then tosses a mini basketball at his shoulder. It bounces off, and Hunter laughs.

“Tell me I didn’t see you in Kendall’s office using the full-length skeleton like a ventriloquist. Making jokes about the funny bone.”

We all laugh, except for Aleksi who’s sort of sulking in his chair. “I get nervous, okay? She’s beautiful, and every time I go to see her—”

Scottie Easton's voice breaks through from the kitchen, cutting him off. “He starts jabbering like a buffoon and won’t shut the hell up.”

“Shut up, East.” Aleksi snarls.

“No, you shut up, Mäk. I had to wait for twenty minutes and listen to you go on and on about how scientists believe that Pluto is just one giant space ice fart, while you were taking up my weekly check-in appointment,” Scottie says, a large bowl of cereal in his hands, as if he hadn’t just demolished two burgers and a side of BBQ ribs thirty minutes ago at lunch. “I just about stabbed my eyes out with my own thumbs to numb the pain of extreme secondhand embarrassment. You make it a goddamn art form."

Aleksi scoffs at Scottie and then looks over at me. “Forget him. So, are you in?”

Who the hell am I kidding? I’m not going to say no to being in the same room as the woman I can’t stop thinking about.

“Yeah,” I say as the game ends, kicking Hunter’s ass for the third time this week. He mutters “motherfucker” and tosses the controller on the couch.

The truth is, seeing Cammy in the middle of a dance floor and being the only guy in the room that she won’t let touch her is going to be painful. God help me for what I’m capable of if some prick walks up and thinks he’s going to grind up against her on the dance floor right in front of me.

On second thought… Maybe it’s better that I don’t go. The last thing I need is another mugshot and Angelica coming down to bail me out of jail for a second time, even if the first time wasn’t my fault.

Aleksi claps his hands together like he’s won something. “That’s the spirit, Dumont. Ziegler's meeting us there, and Hartley doesn’t have a sitter for Adeline, so he’s out.”

“Hunter… you in?” Mäkelin asks, pointing to him.

Hunter stands up off the couch. “I’ll go. But no breakdancing this time, Mäkelin, or I swear I’m not taking you to the emergency room again.”

Then Aleksi looks at Scottie. “What about you? You in, East?”

I glance over to see Scottie topping off his bowl of cereal for the second time. “Can I bring the bowl?”

Aleksi shrugs, “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

An hour later, the music at Ground Zero is deafening. Strobe lights flash across the packed dance floor, highlighting sweaty bodies and wild grins. There’s only one thing I’m here for. When I spot her across the room, I forget all about the crowd. There’s only one thing in here I want.

A woman walks up and grabs my hand, gripping it with both of hers, attempting to pull me toward the dance floor. “You’re cute. Dance with me!” she says, yelling over the music.

“Sorry, I’m with someone,” I tell her, and then twist my hand out of her grip.

She looks disappointed for a second, and then her eyes slide to the guy behind me—Hunter—and her eyes light back up.

“No problem,” she says. “I’ll take him.”

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