Page 51 of Wicked Player

I slammed my fist into his. “You too, old man.”

He turned and lifted his arms in the air. He wore nothing but a towel and the well-known cocky Powell smirk. “You only wish you could look this good when you’re as old as I am.”

“Damn straight.” I flung the towel I had wrapped around my neck and flipped it at him, smacking him right in his six-pack I knew women all over fawned over.

Seriously. More than one woman came up and asked for my autograph, only to then asked if Powell was as sexy in person as he was on television. Like I’d know how to answer that.

He gripped his stomach and pointed a finger in my direction. “Watch it. I’m still young enough to kick your ass.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I shoved the towel back to my shoulder and hit the showers.

Today’s practice had been good, despite the reporters and the questions I had to answer afterward. I was focused. I didn’t drop a pass. My time jumping off the line was on point. And I was able to do all of that knowing Elizabeth was in the stands watching.

Perhaps I performed better because she was there.

I quickly pushed her out of my mind and focused on running plays in my mind. A hard-on in the men’s communal shower wasn’t exactly on my planned list of activities.

Ignoring the players who were celebrating our win, I washed up as fast as possible and headed back to the locker room. In less than thirty minutes, I was dressed, duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

I still had no idea what to do about Elizabeth, no idea how to fix what I knew I’d screwed up.

But it sure as hell wouldn’t stop me from trying.

And if she ever put her hands on Connor again, despite him being her ex, she’d know exactly what I thought about women who wereminetouching another man.

* * *

“Tristan?”

“Are you through with her?”

My grip on my steel water bottle went hard. It was after nine. I was kicking back, watching a sweet as hell Navy Seal television show. At Tristan’s question, my feet slammed to the floor and I was hurrying to my room. I didn’t need to clarify who or what he meant. The instant thumping in my chest at the only reason he would call told me everything.

“Did she take a room?”

His French voice grated on my impatient nerves. “I ask the questions and you didn’t answer mine.”

Shit. Was I done with her?

No way in hell. Not by a long shot. “No.”

“Then you should get here.”

She was there. That’s what she agreed to with Connor earlier?

When I got her back into a private room, I’d plaster her backside with red stripes.

After talking to her in reasonably, controlled tones.

“Private room?” I repeated.

“No. She’s still in the anteroom waiting to enter.”

Small favors. But the fact she was there, talking to security and signing in didn’t settle anything inside.

“Would you like me to—”

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