Page 112 of Big Stick Energy
“Jesus, no.” Another shadow rises—this one from the grass. “The app said there was a fifty percent chance of seeing the northern lights. You gotta lie around in the dark for that. Could you, uh, check me for ticks? I mean… after the kiss maybe?”
I yank my hands from Eric’s and take a step back. And then another one. I’m supposed to be studying right now. I’m not supposed to be blowing up my life and my job on the off chance that Eric might want to date me for a few months. Until he suddenly remembers why dating is complicated, while noticing all the songwriters and underwear models still throwing themselves at his feet.
“Darcy,” he says. “Wait.”
But that only makes it worse. If his teammates couldn’t see well enough in the dark to know who they were listening to, they sure as hell know now.
I turn my back and run.
When Zoe enters our shared room an hour later, I’m sitting on the bed in silence, googling “rental cars, Lake Placid, New York,” and holding a piece of toilet paper to my brow bone. And when I drop it, she lets out a little eep of surprise.
“Oh God! What happened to yourface? And yourknee. Oh my God.”
“It looks worse than it is,” I say stiffly. “There was a branch in the woods…” The same one that Eric had held out of the way for me? It had smacked me in the face as I made my hasty departure from the lakeside.
And then? I tripped over the branch on the trail and went splat into the gravel, too, skinning my knee like a toddler.
“Oh,honey,” Zoe says with real anguish.
“It looks worse than it is,” I repeat, and then I squint at her. “Wait. Does my face lookthatbad? Or are they gossipingalready?”
She winces. “I wouldn’t call it gossip. More like concern.”
“Concern aboutwhat?” I demand, sliding off the bed. This is a complete disaster. My number one goal was making sure that the team—and the Legends management—don’t see me as the kind of employee who fools around with the players.
But then I did something colossally stupid, and I can only guess what they’ll all be discussing on the five-hour bus ride home tomorrow.
“Why are you holding your arm like that?” Zoe asks.
I look down at my left arm, which I’m clutching against my body. “I fell on it when I skinned my knee. It’s fine.”
She takes a slow breath. Then she grabs her handbag off the dresser and beckons. “Come on. You’re coming with me.”
“Where?”
“To find the teamdoctor.” She leavesyou idiotoff that sentence, although it’s implied.
“I’m studying.”
She lunges toward the bed and grabs my accounting textbook, tucking it under her arm. “Now, Darcy. Right now.”
Knowing she isn’t likely to back down, I follow her out.
Chapter 41
Shouldn’t Give Me the Ick
Eric
Chase’s penthouse apartment buzzes with the kind of post-practice energy that comes from having three professional athletes lazing around one living room. The terrace doors are thrown open to let in the summer air, and protein shakes sit sweating on every available surface.
DeLuca is doing sit-ups with his feet wedged under the couch, his breathing steady despite carrying on a conversation. “So what exactly is your hesitation?” he asks as his head bobs into view again. “This hotel thing is exactly the kind of sponsorship you always wanted.”
“Yeah, and I bet Darcy would want you to take it,” Merritt says, sprawled in the oversized armchair. “Wouldn’t she, baby?”
Zoe puts her espresso cup under the machine and hits the button. “That sounds like Darcy,” she says noncommittally.
“It would be helpful if I could talk to her about it,” I say, directing the comment pointedly in Zoe’s direction.
