Page 3 of Game Misconduct

“We’ll deal with it as we have to,” Nick says. “I promise, I didn’t know you were Whitney’s little sister.”

I bristle at the little. Even though I’m three years younger than them, nothing about me is little.

“That’s what you said earlier.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

“So you didn’t use me to get back at him?”

The thought has been niggling in the back of my brain for the last hour, an insidious intrusive thought. They’ve hated each other since World Juniors, when Wyatt and Elsy hooked up, my boneheaded brother said something he shouldn’t have, and then Nick broke his nose. It took thirteen years for Elsy to forgive Wyatt, but now they’re engaged, and it’s all behind them.

Nick’s eyes meet mine, and for the first time, I see the pain he’s carrying. “I had no idea.”

With that final confirmation, I swallow my fears. “We can coexist. I guess.”

His easy grin makes my pulse throb with want, and I have to tamp it down. There’s no way I’m repeating the same mistakes with him of all people.

“Thanks, babe. Maybe we can hang out while we’re here.”

Instantly, I’m overcome by rage so intense it makes my eyes burn with unshed tears. Babe. That’s what he called me that day. When my name didn’t matter and I was just an easy lay. Someone convenient. A means to get off.

It’s the word gorgeous, successful men use to encourage women like me into dropping their guard and falling into bed. They don’t have to remember her name. They don’t have to pretend they care. Because they don’t remember. They don’t care.

At one point, I fell for it. I was so desperate for any scrap of affection, I let men use me for their own agenda. Put my wants and needs aside for the sake of theirs. I wasn’t important—to them, or to myself.

But I’m not that girl anymore. I don’t hang out with my brother’s enemy, and I definitely don’t get naked and let my guard down around men who have the power to destroy me.

Let’s be clear: I consented. I was one hundred and ten percent willing to fall into bed with him, and for it to end there. But I can’t deny the toll it took on me. Or that I’ve been held hostage to the memories.

My voice was quieter back then. Softer. I’m stronger now. I know who I am and what I won’t stand for.

And I won’t be his vacation plaything, only to be discarded at the end of the week.

“Get out.”

Nick blinks at me, bewildered. “But⁠—”

“Get the fuck out, and don’t come back.”