Page 82 of Make the Play

“See you at home, baby.”

She rolls her eyes. “Get out of my office.”

I don’t bother answering with more than a chuckle, I just turn and walk out, because if I don’t go right now, I’ll reach for her. Kiss her, say something I can’t unsay, and I can’t risk that right now.

Because it’s one thing to want her close.

But it’s everything to keep her safe.

Chapter eighteen

You’re inviting me into my own bed

Chase

I’ve been staring at the guest room for ten minutes.

Except calling it a guest room might be generous. Right now, it’s a mattress-less bed frame, two unopened flatpack boxes, and a lamp with gold carnations wrapped around the stand that doesn’t match anything else in the condo.

The sheets are folded neatly on an armchair. The throw pillows are aggressively fluffed on top. The nightstand, which includes a mini refrigerator, is already stocked with Zoe’s favorite sparkling water and a lavender pillow spray I panic-bought because the internet said it helps with anxiety.

But the mattress? Delayed.

Out for delivery tomorrow, and not even the expedited kind of tomorrow. The anytime-between-eight-a.m.-and-forever kind.

I scrub a hand down my face and back out of the room, pacing a tight line in the hallway as my mind replays the same loop over and over.

She’s coming here. Zoe. In my home.

And not just for a quick visit or a post-game hangout. She’s living here, in this space that’s always been mine and only mine.

I should be cleaning. Or cooking. Or hiding the fact that I reorganized the pantry in case she wanted to use it.

This condo has never hosted a guest. Not a friend, not a hookup. Not even my parents or brother. When they’re in Denver, they stay in a hotel, and that’s by design. I never set the room up on purpose, because there’s something too real about having family in this space—the people who remember what I did and who want to love me anyway. Who smile and tell me I’m not to blame, but still flinch when they look at the lake.

But I can’t deny Zoe. Can’t deny the desperation I feel to ensure she’s safe, that she’s protected, even when she hasn’t asked me to do it.

And now, she’s coming here for that exact reason, and I’ve got no fucking mattress.

I wander through the condo like I’m prepping for an inspection, even though this place is already spotless. There’s nothing out of place, nothing personal, nothing warm. It’s all clean lines and expensive furniture and one lonely-ass hockey stick leaning in the corner by the balcony. Not even my favorite one.

I mutter a curse under my breath just as the buzzer sounds. My heart jumps, and I’m halfway to the door before it finishes.

When I pull it open, Zoe stands on the other side in leggings, a big zip-up Storm hoodie, and her hair twisted up like she did it in the car. Charlie took her back to her apartment after work tograb some things, so she’s got a duffel bag in one hand and one of those giant thermal water cups that look like they’d survive the apocalypse in the other.

She looks tired and beautiful and my whole damn world is tilting into her orbit.

“Hi,” she says, frowning at me. “You gonna let me in or just vibe in the doorway all night?”

“Uhhh.” I step aside. “Come in.”

She eyes me warily as she enters, gaze scanning the condo suspiciously. I watch her wander through the space—modern, open plan, neutral tones with a view of the city so good it’s almost lonely.

“You’ve got the main character villain aesthetic down pat,” she mutters, toeing off her sneakers.

“Thanks, I guess?”

She sets her drink down and turns to face me, squinting as if she already knows I’m about to tell her something she won’t like.

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