Page 126 of Make the Play

But she’s not there yet, and pushing her would be the worst kind of selfish.

The doors open to the lobby, and I step out, already halfway to the mailboxes, when I hear an unfamiliar voice.

“Afternoon, Mr. Walton!”

I glance up and spot a guy behind the front desk—mid-thirties, clean cut, cheerful in that overly-helpful-security-guy kinda way.

“Hey,” I say, giving him a nod. “You new?”

“Just transferred buildings. Nate,” he adds, tapping his badge. “Big Storm fan, by the way. Your game against Dallas last season—overtime snipe, right? That was sick.”

I grin. “Appreciate it.”

He slides something across the counter. “This got dropped off earlier. Left it at the desk since your girlfriend wasn’t on the delivery list.”

I take the small package. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” he says, beaming like I just handed him a signed stick. “And hey, good luck next week. I’ll be watching.”

“Thanks,” I repeat, already heading for the elevator.

The doors slide shut, and a moment later, I step into the condo, kicking my shoes off before I call out.

“You home?”

Zoe’s voice floats from the living room. “Nope. I’m a figment of your deeply repressed imagination.”

I round the corner to find her curled on the couch, laptop on her thighs, and a spoon hanging out of her mouth.

“Pudding?” I ask, raising a brow.

“Chocolate mousse. I’m fancy.”

I drop my bag and head to the kitchen to grab a protein shake. “Rest day tomorrow.”

“Big plans? More running away from your feelings?”

I open the fridge. “Probably. I’m thinking ten miles this time.”

She hums an amused sound around her spoon.

When I look back at her, she’s watching me closely, her eyes a little softer than usual.

“Nice pass in the last drill today, by the way,” she says, looking back at her computer. “Coach posted a clip to his story.”

I blink. “You’re stalking Benson’s socials now?”

“I’m very bored and easily entertained.”

“You’re obsessed with me.”

She shoots a raised brow at me. “Aren’t we all.”

I’m about to say something back—something that walks the line between dangerous and honest—when her phone rings.

She glances down and lets out a breathy laugh.

“Charlie,” she says, shaking her head fondly as she picks it up.

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