Page 71 of My Merry Mistake
I slowly stop pedaling. I’m in trouble but I have no idea why.
“Hey, Finn.”
“Hey, Raya.” My tone is cautious, like I’m about to poke a crocodile.
“Can I talk to you?” Her expression is clear—she’s ticked.
I hold my hands up. “I feel like you’re mad at me.”
“Nope,” she says, coolly, but there’s something behind her eyes that I don’t trust. “Just a little chat. Promise it won’t take long.”
Crap. She’s definitely mad at me.
By now, most of the guys are watching this. From behind me, someone says, “Don’t go, man, she’s gonna kill you!”
I frown at Raya.
She narrows her eyes.
I lean toward her, keeping the bike between us for protection. “What didI do?”
She scoffs. “Don’t pretend you don’t know.” Her tone cuts.
“I have no idea,” I say. “Clue me in?”
“Hallway,” she says firmly. “Now.” She turns on her heel and marches out of the gym to a chorus of “Oohhhs” from the guys.
“Dang, Brookie, you’re in trouble!” Jericho says as I get off the bike.
I grab a towel and look at Dallas. “I should be terrified, right?”
“Hope you have your affairs in order.” His grin makes light of it, but there’s a pit in my stomach.
“Hey, maybe now’s a good time to tell her you’re in love with her,” Jericho calls out.
I throw the towel at him, grateful Raya’s already in the hallway and doesn’t hear this.
“Hey, get Coach—tell him we’re gonna need a new lineman,” Krush calls out from the bench. “Brookie’s going on the Injured Reserve.”
I’m pretty sure he’s right.
I walk into the hallway and find Raya waiting, arms folded, tapping her fingers like she’s had too much caffeine. And even though she’s never not looked beautiful, she doesn’t look like herself right now. She’s pale, and I could pack for the weekend in the bags under her eyes.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “Why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be home?”
She lets out a sardonic laugh. “I. Cannot.Believeyou.”
Her eyes drift past me, back into the gym, which is basically a big room with four walls of windows. I follow her gaze and seea whole lot of hockey players watching us. She grabs my arm and pulls me around the corner.
“Look, Hart, if you wanted to get me alone, all you had to do was ask,” I say. “There’s no need for violence.”
She glares at me, and I instantly regret trying to lighten the mood. Apparently, now is not the time for jokes.
I hold up my hands in surrender. “Sorry. Really, I didn’t mean—You’re clearly upset about something.”
“Yeah, and I have every right to be.” She looks trapped, like she’s not sure where to go.
I rest a hand on her arm. “Tell me what I did. Whatever it is, I’ll apolog?—”
