The men’s locker room is sacred for a reason, and now I know why. Keeping my eyes on the floor, I use my hair to block my face and haul ass down the center aisle toward my dad’s office.
My dad has three rules.
No talking to his players.
No hanging out with his players.
No dating his players.
So why did he ask me to meet him after practice? For years, I have followed his rules and steered clear of his players… until today. I consider running out of the room, but I commit to my mission once the players see me.
Players whistle as I move past them. One guy informs me I’m in the men’s locker room—as if I need a reminder. Another jerk has the nerve to reach out and touch my leg.
I feel like I’m doing the world’s longest walk of shame. Dozens of eyes are on me. The players whisper about me under their breaths. But I wasn’t turning back once I’d stepped into the locker room.
So, here I am. Go me and my walk of shame.
I glance up for a second to look for the door that leads to my dad’s office… and I run head-first into a bare chest. Pushing out my palm, my fingers graze a wet, muscular stomach. A few inches lower, and I would have ripped the towel from his waist.
Blocked by a wall of muscle, I peek up at Preston Parker, all six feet four inches of him. Preston is even bigger close-up and hotter too. If any player were ever off-limits to me, it’s Preston.
The corner of his mouth turns up into a wicked smirk that produces an unusual reaction from me.
“Excuse me.” I shove Preston, desperate to move him to the side, but he’s a big guy. “You’re in my way.”
His fingers brush mine. “And you are in mine.”
A rush of heat shoots through my fingertips and runs up my arm. Touching Preston shouldn’t feel this good. He’s my dad’s favorite player and the best defenseman in the division. But most of all, he’s out of my league.
Like way out of it.
On another planet.
I’m a scholarship kid. He’s a wealthy athlete with the potential to go pro. We have nothing in common apart from our athleticism.
Preston touches my hand for a split second before I step back from him. “You have the wrong locker room.”
He runs his long fingers through his short, dark hair, pushing it off his forehead. Like the rest of him, it’s wet.
He smiles, and my silly heart claws its way out of my chest. Water slides down the side of his face, and I want to lick it from his tanned skin.
Focus, Bex.
“No, I don’t,” I counter. “This is the right locker room. Just shitty timing.”
He tilts his head to the side and studies my face long enough to make me self-conscious. “I know you. Right? You’re Coach Bryant’s daughter. You look different. Were you always so… tall?”
I’m five feet ten inches, which is handy when playing basketball. Preston still has six inches on me, though.
“I’ve been this tall since freshman year. And it’s Bex.”
He scratches the stubble along his angular jaw, still smirking at me. “Bex? What an unusual name.”
“Okay, Peter Preston Parker. This from the guy who’s named after Spider-Man.”
He laughs. “You’re a real smart ass, Bex Bryant.”
“So I’ve been told.”
His crooked smile and disgustingly good looks produce a strange reaction inside me. My physical response to Preston needs to fuck off. Like right now.
“Bex is short for Bexley,” I add for clarification.
Not like he cares about my name. He’s too busy staring down my basketball jersey at my boobs.
“Preston,” he says. “Not Peter. No one calls me by my first name. But I’m sure you already knew that.”
I roll my eyes at the arrogant jerk.
But I’m sure you already knew that.
Who does he think he is?
My dad will have a stroke if he sees me talking to one of his players, let alone his precious Preston. After winning the Frozen Four last year, my dad swears Preston will take them all the way again, especially after he won MVP. And from what I’ve heard, Mr. MVP has no problem doing the same with the girls on campus.
I can’t be one of them.
I will never be one of them.
