Page 23 of Make the Play

I turn around so fast I get whiplash.

And yep. He’s awake, alright. Looking way too good for someone who just spent half the night taking me to pound town.

I drag my gaze over him. He’s on his stomach, head turned toward me, a lazy yet satisfied grin pulling at his lips. His voice is all deep and sleep-wrecked, arms flexing and muscles rippling as he stretches them out under his pillow.

No. Nah. Nope.

I am not looking at that. I’m not thinking about that. I don’t even answer him, because if I do, I will simply pass away.

“Sleep well?” he asks, all smug and completely unbothered.

I hate him. I hate myself. I hate the entire goddamn NHL.

“Yep,” I lie, my voice too high. “Super well. Very restful. Best sleep of my life, honestly.”

His grin deepens.

Abort. Abort. Abort.

My head darts around the hotel room, and I grab the first towel I see, yanking it around my naked body to protect myself from his heavy gaze raking over me and my own mistakes.

“We can never—” I shake my head, breathing deeply. “We can never talk about this. Ever.”

Chase just watches me, head tilting with that maddeningly unreadable expression on his stupidly perfect face. Then his lips twitch.

This asshole is about to joke.

“Your secret is safe with me, Zo.” He leans back against the pillows, feigning casual. “Although, if you ever wanna do a performance review—”

“I’m serious, Walton.”

He holds up his hands, the picture of innocence. “I hear you.”

“Do you?” My voice sharpens, panic spiking again. “Because I need you to actually understand. No jokes. No slip-ups. This didn’t happen.”

His grin falters. “Zo—”

“No, listen to me.” My voice is harsh, but I don’t care. “I’m contracted to the fucking Storm. If this gets out, I’m done. Mycareer, my credibility, my entire reputation will be in the ground. So I need to know you get it.”

He watches me, still looking half-asleep and entirely too pleased with himself. Then his lips twitch as if he wants to push, wants toseesomething, but instead he just huffs a quiet chuckle.

“You can tell me it was the best you’ve ever had, sweetheart,” he muses, voice too smooth, too unreadable. “No need to be shy—”

I launch a pillow at his face and the asshole dodges it, but at least he has the decency to look startled.

“This didn’t happen,” I snap. “Tell me you get that, Chase.”

Something shifts in his expression as I say his name. The amusement fades as his jaw tightens. His eyes flick over my face, reading me the way he always does. And then he finally nods.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “I get it.”

I ignore the burn behind my eyes and nod back. “Good.”

And before I can second-guess myself, before I can take in the warmth of him, the intimacy still lingering between us, I turn on my heel and march straight into the bathroom.

I slam the door, lock it, and brace my hands against the counter.

My reflection stares back at me, and I exhale sharply through my nose, trying to force the image to make sense, but it doesn’t.

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