Page 78 of Make the Play

Ifind out from Jake.

Not from Zoe. Not from her lips or her voice or her goddamn fingers on a keyboard. I find out because Jake corners me in the locker room after informal skate, a towel slung over his shoulder, and a deep frown carved between his brows.

“You need to check on your girl,” he says, pausing for a beat. “She got some weird messages and was followed last night.”

The sentence doesn’t land all at once. It slices slowly into my skin, piece by piece. I blink down at my water, hoping the words are going to rearrange themselves into something reasonable. Something lessfucking insane,but they don’t.

“The fuck did you say?”

“She’s fine,” Jake says, like that’s supposed to help. “Came to ours for the night. Didn’t wanna be alone.”

I stare at him, and he stares back, watching my reaction carefully. Then after a moment, he claps a heavy hand on my shoulder and walks off like he didn’t just casually detonate the bomb that is my entire nervous system.

The next ten minutes are a blur. I don’t remember getting dressed, I don’t remember the drive. I don’t even remember swiping into the building. All I know is that I’m in Pulse’s lobby one second, and storming out of the elevator the next, vision narrowing as if I’m mid-shift with a puck flying at my face.

I barrel through the open-plan office, because right now I don’t give a shit about appearances or professional etiquette or the look some intern gives me.

I get to her office and throw the door open. Zoe jerks in surprise, a coffee tilting toward her mouth, a half-eaten protein bar resting on a napkin beside her phone.

“Jesus,” she says. “You trying to get tased?”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

My voice comes out rough, too loud in the sleek glass and steel of her office, but I’m past the point of caring.

She lowers her coffee slowly, and her expression tightens, telling me she already knows what this is about, but she still plays dumb.

“Tell you what?”

I knock the door shut with my foot and cross the room in three strides, both palms hitting her desk with a solid thud. I lean in, barely holding myself together.

“You were followed last night, Zoe,” I bite out through clenched teeth. “And you didn’t think to fucking tell me?”

She leans back in her chair, playing it cool, but I don’t miss the flicker in her eyes.

“It’s not a big deal,” she says.

“Not a big—?” I slap my hands on the desk again, her coffee jumping in its cup. “Some psycho knows where you work, is sending you fucked up messages, and you don’t think that’s a big deal?”

She doesn’t say anything, just crosses her arms and hits me with that dry, steady look that always makes me want to argue and kiss her in equal measure.

“You’re moving in with me.”

She blinks. “What?”

“You’re moving in,” I repeat, slower this time. “Tonight. Pack a bag.”

“Walton, you are myfakeboyfriend. Not my dad or my boss. You don’t get to decide where I live.”

“Cool. You can be fake all you want. I’m real enough for both of us.”

She scoffs, lips twitching like she might laugh. “Yeah, that’s cute. But this isn’t your call.”

“Don’t care.”

“I’m serious!”

“So am I,” I snap. “You think I’m just gonna sit around while some asshole follows you at night and sends you creepy messages? No. Absolutely fucking not.”

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