Page 97 of The Defender
Coach pressed his lips into a thin line. He obviously didn’t believe me, but I’d answered his questions competently enough that he couldn’t find a flaw. Yet.
“So you’re not on your way to find Brooklyn,” he said.
“No, sir.”
“Then where are you off to in such a rush?”
“The…toilet.”
“By yourself?”
“Yes. I generally don’t make it a group activity. Sir,” I added hastily.
“Let’s go.”
“To where?”
“The toilet. I have to take a piss.” He jerked his chin toward the restrooms.
Fuck my life.With no other choice but to back up my lie, I followed him to the toilets, where we used the facilities in awkward silence.
“I’m headed to an after-party with some of the guys, so don’t wait up for me,” I said before he “offered” to drive us home. “I’ll see you in the morning for our run.”
Thankfully, he didn’t ask any questions about my post-gala plans, but it didn’t matter. By the time I returned to the ballroom, Brooklyn was gone.
BROOKLYN
I declined Carina’s invitation to go to Samson’s after-party with her. Normally, I’d be down for a night of hanging out at the winger’s ridiculously lavish mansion—he’d built an honest-to-God, private nightclub in the basement—but I wasn’t in the mood.
I’d lingered at the gala, hoping Vincent would show up, but he’d disappeared right after the auction. He was probably at the after-party right now, living it up with the rest of Blackcastle.
It was stupid of me to assume he’d seek me out after the auction. What had I expected? That he’d be so overwhelmed by my bid, he’d run offstage and kiss me in front of everyone? He hadn’t asked me to do that for him, and I hadn’t even won. While part of me was relieved—the thirty-five thousand pounds would’ve put me in severe debt—I wished I could’ve punched Leopard Print in the face. She’d been way too smug about winning.
I sighed and stared at my computer. I’d already changed out of my gown and into my PJs. I was working on my ISNA application, which was due next week, but I couldn’t focus.
Why was it so hard for Vincent and me to nail down our relationship? The kiss should’ve clarified things, but it left me more confused than ever.
Every time we moved forward, something pulled us astray before we could solidify our progress. My dad, our friends, a freaking kitchen fire. I couldn’t tell if that was the universe’s way of telling us we weren’t meant to be or if we were just bad at communicating.
Someone knocked on the front door.
The unexpected sound echoed through the flat, and I sat up straight, my brow creasing. Who the hell would drop by this late without notice?
My mind flashed to Vincent’s creepy crochet doll and the strange text he’d gotten in Budapest. Fear curdled in my stomach.
The security system he’d installed was still up and running. He’d also moved out, so the chances of the intruder showingup at my place were slim. But maybe they saw us together in Hungary, thought I was getting in their way, and came to take me out.
They knocked again.
I grabbed a cricket bat from my closet and inched into the living room, toward the front door. I peeked through the peephole, half expecting to see a masked stranger with a gun.
Instead, dark hair and a navy suit filled my vision.
My bat hit the floor with a thud, and I opened the door, my pulse skittering for an entirely different reason.
Vincent stood in the hall, his jacket slung over his shoulder and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His eyebrows inched up when he saw me. “You’re home.”
“It’s midnight on a Thursday. Where else would I be?”
