Page 22 of Well That Happened

I grab a slice from the box on the table, fold it in half, and hold it out to her like a peace offering. She eyes me, then the pizza. Then me again.

“This is emotional manipulation,” she mutters, taking it anyway and dropping onto the couch beside me.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She bites into the slice, exhales like it’s the first good thing she’s tasted in a week, and leans back with a groan.

“God, okay. Fine. I’ll live. Barely.”

She’s got a smudge on her cheek. One of her shoelaces is untied. There’s a pen still clipped to the collar of her shirt.

And somehow, she looks…

Gorgeous.

Not in the obvious way. Not in the tight-dress, glossy-lips way. Just—real. Worn-out and flushed and glowing from the inside like someone who’s been running on adrenaline and purpose all day.

How can someone work ten hours at a hospital and still look good?

Hunter’s voice cuts through my thoughts, sharp and clipped.

“That’s it for tonight. Practice tomorrow at eight. No more coasting. If you’re not focused, don’t bother showing up.”

A few of the guys mutter their agreement and rise to their feet. The crowd starts to disperse. Pizza boxes close. Someone slaps my shoulder on the way out.

I nod. Barely feel it.

Because I’m still watching her.

She’s half asleep already, legs curled under her, pizza crust dangling from her fingers.

And the second she realizes I’m looking, she cracks one eye open.

“What?” she mumbles.

I smile. “Nothing.”

Just everything.

The last of the guys clear out, leaving the living room strewn with pizza crusts and the lingering scent of sweaty gear and testosterone. Hunter grabs his keys from the bowl by the door.

“Party starts in an hour,” he mutters. “We’ll meet them there.”

Grayson gives a chin lift and heads to his room.

I hesitate.

Rilee’s still on the couch, half-curled under one of the throw blankets, scrolling on her phone like she might dissolve into it.

I cross the room and drop onto the armrest near her feet.

“You should come.”

She doesn’t look up. “Hard pass.”

“C’mon. You’ve had a week from hell, and there will be alcohol. Loud music. Dumb dancing. All the essentials.”

“I have work again tomorrow.”

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