Page 80 of Arrogant Puck

He leans down and kisses me once more, soft and lingering, before pulling back.

“Good night, Sage.”

The words hit me like cold water. “Are you leaving?”

“I am.”

“Why?” The question comes out smaller than I intended, almost wounded.

He stands slowly, and I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clench and unclench at his sides. “Before I do something you don’t want.”

The consideration in his voice, the way he’s putting my comfort before his own obvious desire—it does something to me.

He moves toward the door, and panic flutters in my chest.

“Friends, right?” I ask, the word feeling strange and insufficient after everything that just happened. But I’m grasping, reaching for anything he’ll give me.

He pauses with his hand on the door handle, and for a moment I think he might not answer. When he does, his voice is carefully controlled.

“Yes,” he says, not turning around. “Friends, Sage.”

Then he’s gone, and I’m left alone in the too-quiet hotel room with a deep ache spreading throughout my body. The bed still holds the impression of where he laid me down, and I can still taste him on my lips.

I touch my mouth with trembling fingers, wondering how someone saying goodnight can feel like both a promise and a goodbye.

I must drift off eventually because I wake to the harsh buzz of my alarm, morning light streaming through the hotel curtains. My head pounds from the one drink I had.

I pack my things, folding my clothes to fit perfectly into my carry on.

The team meets in the lobby for checkout, and I position myself to not acknowledge Slater’s presence even when I can feel his eyes on me. He keeps his distance too, staying with Henderson and Davis while I focus on my phone, my bag, anything but the man who is consuming every one of my thoughts.

The flight back feels interminable despite being only a few hours. I am assigned the window seat toward the front. I plug in my headphones, losing myself in some mindless romantic comedy that feels like mockery given my current situation. Slater is so not the type to make me laugh and sweep me off my feet. And then it dawns on me that I’m sitting on this plane comparing a nonexistent love life to a movie. I lean back into my seat, wishing that I wasn’t aching for another kiss from him.

When we land, I’m one of the first off the plane, grabbing my carry-on and heading toward baggage claim with single-minded focus. But as we all congregate near the exit, waiting for our luggage, Slater appears beside me.

“Got my bags,” he says, his voice carefully neutral. “Let’s go home.”

The word ‘home’ hits me unexpectedly. His home. Where all my belongings happen to be. Where I have to sleep in his guestroom and pretend his presence doesn’t rattle me.

I glance around at the team, hoping no one’s paying attention to us. Henderson is talking to the coaches, Davis is on his phone, and most of the other guys are focused on collecting their gear. But I can feel eyes on us anyway—the subtle awareness that comes from being part of a team where everyone knows everyone’s business.

Eventually, I have to push aside their potential judgment and follow him. Because despite everything, I am staying with him now. I need his roof over my head, his charity to keep me from sleeping in my car.

The thought twists my stomach into knots.

I follow him toward the parking garage, my heels clicking against the concrete in a rhythm that sounds like a countdown to disaster.

His car—sleek, black, expensive—sits in the same spot where he left it three days ago. Three days that feel like a lifetime now.

I slide into the passenger seat, buckling my seatbelt and staring straight ahead. The silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable, filled with everything we’re not saying. He starts the engine, and the low rumble fills the space where conversation should be.

We’re not looking at each other. Not speaking. Just two people trapped in a metal box, pretending the other doesn’t exist while we both remember what it felt like when we kissed and acknowledged each other’s dark sides.

The city passes by outside my window in a blur of familiar buildings and foreign feelings. I’m going to his house where I will be staying until I find a place, and I don’t know how long that will be. I hope maybe we can actually be friends.

But I know that’s a trash thought. Straight garbage. Him and I were never going to be friends. I had hoped my intuition was wrong. We kissed, and it changes everything.

I lean back in my seat, slowly flicking my eyes to him.

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