Page 39 of Arrogant Puck

I hold his gaze, steady. “You wish.”

A flicker of a grin. Then he leans in, placing his lips by my ear.

“Tonight. Same time.”

And just like that, he’s gone. Like he didn’t just light my entire nervous system on fire and scare the hell out of me.

I stand there, trying to breathe evenly, hands trembling at my sides.

Behind me, Riley steps out of his office, sees me. Frowns.

“You still here?”

I glance at my phone, thumb tapping the screen. “Just answering a text.”

He nods, distracted. “You can head out.”

“Thanks.”

I walk out like I’m fine.

But I’m already thinking about tonight.

And how I’m definitely not fine at all.

By the time I get home, the sun is dipping low behind the buildings, casting everything in amber. I drop my bag by the door and head straight to the bathroom, leaning over the sink like the mirror will offer answers.

What the hell is Slater’s problem?

I replay the moment. His hand on my throat. The husk of his voice. That grin. My pulse thumping like I’d just been chased.

That wasn’t normal. That wasn’t professional.

And I let it happen.

God, I can’t afford to be this girl. Some stupid girl caught up in some arrogant athlete’s orbit, trying to decode every expression like it matters. Like he matters.

I stare at my reflection for a beat longer before pushing off the counter and heading to the shower.

If I’m going back to his house, I’m not going back a mess.

I wash my hair, slow and thorough, like I’m trying to scrub off the way he looked at me. I shave everything, even though I have no intention of getting naked. I exfoliate. I use the good body wash, the one that smells like vanilla and almond. Then I towel off and layer on lotion—legs, arms, even between my toes. I want to feel like my skin belongs to me.

In my room, I dig through my drawer for something easy. Simple. Comfortable.

I settle on black leggings and a soft slate blue top. Casual, but clean. I add a spritz of perfume behind my ears and at my wrists. I keep my makeup light—just a little concealer, some mascara, tinted lip balm.

When I glance at myself in the mirror, I almost cry. Why am I doing this? I should not be going there. I purposely wear my raggedy clothes and pray to God that Riley wasn’t right about my face. I don’t want pretty privilege.

I pack my bag slowly, checking and rechecking that I have everything. Notes, gloves, tape, resistance bands. I’m halfway through organizing it when Emma breezes into the room, wearing another tiny black top and jeans that look spray-painted on.

She pauses in the doorway, her eyes dragging over me like she’s putting together a theory. “Do you have a hot date tonight?”

I blink, looking at my clothes. “No.”

Her mouth curves into a half-smile. “You sure? You look good.”

“No, just… errands. Does this really look cute? I should change.”

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