Page 11 of Well That Happened

Because, of course, Fletcher told him to watch me like I’m some glass figurine that’ll shatter if I blink too hard.

I step into the living room.

Hunter’s on the couch, sleeves shoved up, jaw tense as hell. He spots me and immediately hangs up, tossing his phone onto the cushion like it offended him.

I raise a brow. “You keepin’ an eye on me already, or do I get a grace period?”

His expression hardens. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Trust me, this isn’t exactly my dream vacation either.”

He stands, taller than I remembered, all sharp edges and barely leashed irritation.

His hair’s longer now, like he hasn’t bothered to cut it in a while. There’s stubble along his jaw, and it shouldn’t be hot—but, of course, it is.

Everything about him is too sharp. Too intense. TooHunter.

And I hate that I still notice.

That somewhere in the back of my traitorous brain, I’m remembering the way he used to laugh when Fletcher dragged him over for game nights. How I used to catch myself watching him when I was supposed to be doing homework.

I had a thing for him once. Stupid of me.

He made it very clear he wasn’t interested—in me or in staying part of my brother’s life after things got hard.

Now all that’s left is this jagged tension between us and the heat I refuse to admit is still there.

“This house is supposed to be our zone. Focused. No distractions.”

“Wow,” I say, arms crossed. “Didn’t realize my mere existence was that disruptive.”

He glares. “You know what I mean.”

“Actually, I don’t.” I take a step closer, fueled by exhaustion and spite. “Please, enlighten me, Maddox. What are the rules for coexisting with your walking catastrophe of a houseguest?”

His jaw ticks. “Don’t hook up with anyone.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You’re not here to get cozy with my teammates. This isn’t a rom-com; it’s a hockey house.”

Heat rises to my face. “First of all, gross. Second, what I do is none of your business.”

“It is when it messes with my team.”

“Oh, your team? Is that what this is about?” I snap. “Afraid I’lldistractthem with my feminine wiles?”

His mouth twitches—like he wants to say something brutal but isn’t sure if it’ll land.

I close the distance, just enough to make him uncomfortable. “Here’s a thought: if your focus is that fragile, maybe you’re the one who’s not ready for the pros.”

He stares at me, breathing harder than before, tension rolling off him in waves.

For a second—just a second—I think he’s going to grab me. Kiss me. Shove me against the wall, and tell me exactly how distracting I am.

But then he blinks, steps back, and mutters, “Stay out of my way, Rilee.”

He storms off down the hall.

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