Page 20 of Racking Up Penalties
“Looks like you were made for this outfit,” I remark, trying to keep my voice light despite the way my pulse races.
“Of course, since you picked it out,” he replies, his tone laced with something I can’t quite place. Maybe admiration?
“Oh stop,” I say, meeting his eyes and finding myself lost in the stormy depths. It’s a connection, undeniable, that tugs at something within me, something I’ve tried to ignore since the day we first met.
“Thanks, Tessa,” he murmurs as I finish up, the nickname feeling like a caress.
“Anytime,” I whisper back, though I’m not sure I trust myself with ‘anytime’ when it comes to Liam Johnson.
I slide the final piece of Liam’s ensemble into place, my fingers lingering for just a second too long on the cool fabric of his shirt. When I pull back, my gaze flickers across the room and catches Tristan’s eyes. They’re not gleaming with his usual pride or the supportive warmth I’ve grown accustomed to; instead, there’s a shadow there, something like concern… or is it jealousy?
Don’t be ridiculous, Tessa.
“Looks sharp,” Tristan finally says, but his voice doesn’t carry the easygoing tone I expect from him. It’s flat, measured as if he’s weighing each word before letting them out. I offer him a reassuring smile, trying to ease whatever is knotting up inside him.
“Thanks, you know I couldn’t have pulled all this off without you,” I say, hoping to remind him that he’s an irreplaceable part of this chaotic puzzle we’re piecing together today.
“Anytime, Tess.” He forces a smile, his attempt at normalcy stark against the tension etching his features.
Before I can probe further into Tristan’s sudden shift in mood, the heavy door to the dressing room swings open, and Ethan, the guy I met in the hallway, strides in. His confident steps echo against the cold concrete floor, every inch the picture of athletic poise. As he draws near, our eyes lock, and a sly grin curls his lips, an unspoken challenge, a daring flirtation that sets my heart racing for reasons I can’t quite name.
“It makes sense you’re the stylist today,Tessa,” Ethan teases, his deep voice rippling through the air and pulling me back into the present.
“Let’s see what we can do,” I reply, injecting professionalism into my voice while my mind races. I turn toward the rack of clothes, selecting pieces with care, but the intensity of Ethan’s stare burns into me, sending a shiver down my spine.
“Make sure you make me look good enough to steal the spotlight,” Ethan continues, his words laced with playful arrogance.
“That’s your goal?” I retort, focusing on the task at hand, even as my hands tremble slightly under his gaze.
Something about him makes me nervous.
As I start working on styling Ethan, I’m keenly aware of the charged silence that descends upon the room. Liam, who should have joined the others by now, lingers near the benches, his gray eyes locked onto Ethan with an unreadable expression. The air between them crackles with tension so thick it’s nearly suffocating, and I sense an underlying current of hostility that I can’t quite place.
“It seems fate wanted us to meet again,” Ethan whispers loud enough for Tristan and Liam to hear.
Before I can respond, Liam cuts in, “You know Ethan?”
Ethan laughs, a deep, rich sound that seems to only tighten the atmosphere. I glance sideways at Tristan, whose jaw is set firmly, eyes flicking from Ethan to Liam and back again as if he’s mentally preparing to step between them at a moment’s notice.
“I feel like I’m missing something,” I mumble.
“We had an instant connection,” Ethan throws out looking at Liam.
I stare at him, trying to figure out what he’s looking to achieve right now.
As Ethan’s smirk widens and Liam’s stance turns rigid, I realize that whatever game is being played here, it’s one I don’t understand.
I hand Ethan a pair of pants, my fingers brushing against his as he takes it from me. The fabric slides through my grasp, the smooth cling whispering of the tension that fills the room like an invisible fog. Instead of going behind the curtain to change, Ethan pulls his pants down leaving behind only a tight pair of boxers that leaves nothing to the imagination.
It’s incredibly hard to pull my eyes away from the bulge facing me and I’m supposed to be a professional. He pulls the pants on, muscles flexing as he goes.
“Looks good,” I murmur, more to myself than anyone else. When my gaze shifts, I catch Liam still there, rooted to the spot near the benches. He isn’t leaving. Shouldn’t he be with the others by now? There’s something in the way he watches Ethan, a vigilance that belies the casual lean of his body against the wall, and my curiosity piques.
“Everything okay, Liam?” I ask, but my voice seems small.
“Just making sure he doesn’t bother you more than taking his pants off unprompted,” he says, but his eyes never leave Ethan.
I find myself inexplicably drawn to that look of fierce attentiveness.
