Page 50 of Arrogant Puck

The words hit me like ice water. My stomach drops, that familiar roller-coaster sensation of panic beginning to build. I almost choke on my own saliva. “What?”

The lock turns with a decisive snap. He crosses his arms, leaning against the door like he owns the space. “I said your turn.”

“No.” The word comes out strangled and then I straighten my spine. “Get out.”

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even acknowledge my demand. I push past him, reaching for the door handle with trembling fingers. I’m claustrophobic right now, feeling helpless. Feeling fucking terrified of what he’s about to make me do.

He points out, “You’re panicking.”

“Get out!” The desperation in my voice echoes off the walls.

His hand appears above mine, holding the door closed as soon as I manage to crack it open. “Not until you tell me what the hell your problem is.”

I shake my head frantically, trying hard not to cry. “Leave!”

“You’re shaking.” His voice is softer now, confused rather than commanding. He reaches for my hands, and I can see genuine concern in his eyes. “What the fuck did I do?”

I push him away, but he’s immovable. A wall of muscle and heat that’s suddenly too close, too overwhelming. “Slater, leave.”

But the panic is building now, that familiar tightness in my chest that means I’m losing control. The walls feel like they’re closing in, and suddenly I’m not in Riley’s old office anymore. I’m back in that hotel room, the one that destroyed everything.

“I was making a stupid joke,” Slater says, his voice cutting through the haze of memory. “I thought it was only fair.”

The casualness of it, the expectation, makes something snap inside me. “That’s not how you start a relationship!”

My heart is racing a million miles per second, and the fact that he got rid of Riley so fast with his threat, and now I’m all alone with no protection––it sends me into a deep spiral.

He shakes his head, confused, stepping closer until I’m trapped against the wall. “Sage. Talk to me.”

“You arrogant fuck!” I push against his chest, but it’s like pushing against stone. “Get the fuck out of here.”

“Was it your ex?” The question is quiet, deadly.

“What?” I gasp, hesitating.Does he know?

His eyes go cold, flat. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

I shout, “That doesn’t make any fucking sense! You don’t even know me! You don’t know anything!”

Before I can react, his hand is on my face, fingers gripping my jaw as he turns my head to the side. The feeling of being controlled, positioned, makes my vision blur with panic.

“Tonight,” he whispers against my skin.

“I can’t.” My voice cracks. “I have too much work because Riley’s gone.”

“You’re coming over tonight. You don’t have a choice.”

And then he’s gone, leaving me alone with the echo of his words.

I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor, my professional facade finally cracking completely. The tears come first, hot and angry, followed by the familiar symptoms I know too well. Racing heart, shallow breathing, the feeling that my chest is being crushed by invisible hands.

That’s not how you start a relationship.

The irony of my own words hits me like a slap. Because that’s exactly how it started with Marcus. The basketball player I thought I loved, the one who made me feel special and wanted until the night everything changed.

I close my eyes and I’m back there, back in that hotel room after his championship game. I’d been so happy, so proud of him, so caught up in the celebration that I didn’t think twice aboutwhat he was asking of me. He said he wanted to continue the celebration, have the best night together.

I trusted him.

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