Page 28 of Puck Lust

She pretends not to notice. I clear my throat, turning when Jack stands up and hoists his bag over his shoulder.

“I’m a really big fan,” she says in a hopeful voice, a bright smile stretching her shiny pink lips. “Maybe if you don’t have plans tonight, we could get dinner or something?”

Fuck.

Jack walks toward us, his head down, bag slung over his shoulder. He pulls the cap down even lower.

“Thanks, I’d love to except we, ah, have pretty strict rules about going out the night before games.” I grin and shrug. “Don’t want to piss off the coach since I’m still a newbie, you know?”

I rush out the words, keeping Jack in my sight as he passes.

That’s when I see the blueish purple mark near the corner of his left eye.

I hold out my hand to the girl and pump it a couple of times before rushing after him. I’m practically on his heels as we walk down the steps and can’t help but notice that his movements are stiff.

“Hey,” I say once we hit the pavement.

He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even look up.

I tug the sleeve of his suit jacket. “What the fuck? You don’t even?—”

He turns his head slightly toward mine, his bottom lip swollen. “Can’t you take a hint? I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Well, that’s going to be a little hard considering that we’re rooming together while we’re here.”

“Shit, shower, sleep. None of that requires talking. So why don’t you just leave me the hell alone?” He stalks toward the bus, leaving me no choice but to follow him.

He gets on, finds a row with two empty seats and dumps his bag next to him again.

Masterson waves me over and I drop into the blue-cushioned seat.

He nods toward Jack. “What’s up with him? He took off last night without saying anything. Was he alone?”

“I don’t know. I’m not his keeper.”

Masterson holds up his hands. “Whoa. I’m not the Spanish Inquisition, man. I know you guys were teammates back in the day. Just curious if he told you anything since he’s barely said a word since he showed up at the airport back in Oakland.”

“Sorry.” I scrub a hand down the front of my face.

“I figured he was making an effort so we didn’t all think he was a tightwad elitest scumbag. Maybe he decided to say fuck it.”

“Maybe,” I mumble.

Anger gathers force deep in my gut during the short bus ride to the hotel.

I told him to stay the fuck away from that guy. What the hell could have happened?

I’ve cracked all of my knuckles and toes by the time we get to the back entrance of the hotel. Enver and the manager get off the bus and return a few minutes later. One of the assistant coaches walks down the narrow aisle and hands hotel room keycards to us.

I clutch mine tight and spring up from the seat. Jack is ahead of me. He walks fast, bypassing the elevator. Then he pulls open a door and disappears behind it.

Stairwell.

Goddammit.

Even though the staff shut down part of the hotel for us, it’s still going to take ten years for us all to get upstairs in two elevator cars. After what feels like a forever stretch of time, I get into an elevator with Tate and Masterson. They’re making plans for dinner at a nearby steakhouse.

“You in?” Masterson asks.

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