Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Cam

We lost.

Lost the game.

Lost the fucking season.

Lost my fucking job likely.

Groaning softly, I slip out of the quiet locker room. The press has grilled us all—I've heard no little amount of "You were first in the league and now you're out in the first round, what happened?"

We've all given our excuses, know that the broadcasters and bloggers will be taking their pound of flesh in the days to come.

We've congratulated the other team during the handshake at center ice, saluted our fans.

We've listened to Coach rant.

And we've listened to Rome do his best to be a good captain, to put a good spin on it.

But…

None of it—the yelling, the keep-your-heads-ups , the questions—make us, or at least me , feel better.

Not good enough.

Not enough in general.

I walk down the hall, head straight for my car, and get the fuck out of there.

No doubt, most of the guys are going to find someone to fuck their frustrations out on, and most of them are going to do it while getting rip-roaring drunk.

I'm going home to get drunk and slaughter my way through an orc village.

It's better than empty sex—better than the feelings that empty sex leaves me with— and I won't have to interact with anyone aside from my online friends.

No family, who've blown up my phone with calls and texts and voicemails.

No teammates, who're feeling this as much as I am—most of them, anyway.

No assistant coaches or training staff or captains, trying to make us feel better after Coach screamed down the room.

Just…mindless activity until I pull my head together.

The roads are quiet, the post-game traffic having cleared out in the time that it took to take care of all my shit, so my drive home is smooth and relatively quick.

I hit the button to open the garage, pull in, and head inside, hanging up my bag and taking off my shoes in the mud room. I want a post-game snack, but it sure as shit isn't going to be my normal healthy version. I'm thinking something my mom stashed in my freezer and a family sized bag of tortilla chips to cover both sweet and salty, all washed down with enough beer that I sleep for a solid ten hours.

Good plan. Go. Break.

I'm so focused on that plan that I miss the light on in the kitchen.

But I sure as shit don't miss the woman sitting at the island.

Thank God I hung my shit up, otherwise it would have ended up on the floor.

"A-Athena?" I stammer.

She'd started swiveling in my direction, but my use of her full name has her glaring at me.

"Ats," I correct quickly. "What"—the fuck —"are you doing here?"

There's a flurry of emotions across her pretty brown eyes before she turns fully to face me. "It was a rough game, huh?"

I still, a flurry of emotions now running through me. "That's the job," I say, moving to the fridge, intent on that beer?—

"Uh-hum."

I turn and see her holding up a beer—and more than that, a bottle of my favorite local IPA—and I hesitate, heart pounding, hope slicing all through my insides, tangling with confusion, with not knowing what the hell is going on or how to handle the woman I'm obsessed with being in my house, coming here like this.

She wiggles the bottle again, and I snap into motion, moving over and taking it, trying not to stare.

But I know I do anyway, searching for more freckles on the bridge of her nose, for the softer brown highlights in her curls that signify her spending time in the sun. I inhale, get that whiff of pure Athena—jasmine and vanilla and woman.

Thankfully, she moves, snapping me out of my reverie, and I focus on the bag.

On what she's pulling out of the bag.

"It's not one of your mom's confectioneries," she says, flattening the brown paper and setting it on top, "and I'll admit that I had half of it for breakfast." I must make a sound because her eyes dart to mine and she hurries to add, "I cut it in half with a knife because it's so big. I didn't gnaw it off like a hungry dog or something."

My shock fades, replaced by amusement. "You mean like you do with Mom's cinnamon rolls?"

The pink on her cheeks surprises me. It's fucking adorable and far softer than any side of Ats that I normally see. This whole moment is—the showing up after the game, the beer, the treat she knows I'll love… all of it is different than anything I've ever seen from her.

"Your mother's cinnamon rolls must be laced with crack because I'm totally addicted." She grins. "But Molly's bakery is a close second." She pushes the treat toward me. "It's an apple cinnamon turnover."

I push it back. "I don't want to eat your food, Ats."

"Well," she says, her tone growing the tiniest bit sharp, "I don't know how to do this?—"

"Do what?"

Her lips press flat.

I move a little closer. "Do what, cupcake?"

Her head shoots up, and I could kick myself as I see the icy shields practically snap back into place.

"Be nice?" I add quickly before she can bolt. "Or be the first line of defense so I don't have a mental breakdown?" I force a smile. "Don't worry. This shit sucks, but I'll be over it in a couple of days."

She narrows her eyes at me. "First," she grits out. "I can be nice."

I snort.

Her glare intensifies. "And I know you're not going to have a mental breakdown," she snaps. "But it's like you said. This sucks and it's nice to not be alone sometimes. If you don't want me here—" She starts to push up out of the chair.

My hand shoots out before I even process it moving, gripping her wrist, halting her retreat.

"I'm sorry, cupcake," I say quietly. "I'm…" I sigh. "Well, I'm in a shit mood. I shouldn't pick at you."

Her gaze flicks from my fingers on her arm up to mine. "I'd be in a shit mood too." She presses her lips together then releases them softly and adds, "Especially when someone's invaded your house."

My mouth kicks up. "You say that as though I'm not used to being invaded."

"That's true," she agrees quietly, slipping her wrist free. I can feel the imprint of her skin on my fingertips. "But still annoying."

"Ats—"

"So, what were you planning on doing?" she asks quickly. "Heading up to bed?" The pink in her cheeks flares.

I study it, hope filling my insides nearly to bursting.

Is this…?

Does her being here mean…?

"I should go," she blurts. "Let you rest."

"I can never fall asleep after games," I say before she can push up to her feet again.

Before she can leave.

"Adrenaline rush," she says, and it's not a question. "I feel that."

I bet she does.

Especially since she's spent the last decade navigating a career that's far more dangerous and adrenaline-inducing than mine.

"So, what do you do to wind down then?" she asks a moment later.

I shrug, feeling my own cheeks going pink. "Play video games, drink a beer—though tonight I'll have more than one—" I pause, realizing belatedly how that sounds.

She raises her hands, palms out. "Hey. No judgment here. I absolutely know the medicinal purposes of tying one on."

"Yeah," I mutter, not sure I believe that.

She nudges the turnover my direction. Plunks another beer in front of me. "So we eat. We drink." Then she winks. "And then…we video game."

"No!" she shouts. "No. No. No! Ugh." She drops the controller to the couch and flops onto the cushions.

Normally, losing a raid would be frustrating, but…

Fuck, she's beautiful.

Fuck, I'm drunk.

Fuck, I want to kiss her, to hold her, to tell her how I feel.

How I've felt for so long .

But…

Her feelings for Lex.

And Christ, she's just trying to do something nice for me.

She doesn't need my shit.

Even if she's beautiful in the pale light of the den, her curls a riot around her face, her brows furrowed in concentration as she picks up her controller and begins again.

I love her.

I want her.

I—

Fuck, I'm pathetic.

I exhale and scrub a hand over my face, something that draws her attention.

She pauses the game, glances over at me. "You ready for bed yet?"

Only if you come with me.

Jesus, Cam.

"I'm fine," I say, shoving that thought out of my head and picking up my beer, taking a long sip. It's number…well, number enough that the edges of my focus are blurred, that these thoughts—dreams, fantasies—about Athena are coming free and loose. "Let's finish this first," I say. "You're finally getting the hang of it."

" Finally , huh?" she teases.

And the words are torn from me without conscious approval.

"You're beautiful, you know that right?"

Athena goes completely still.

For long enough that I know I've totally gone and FUBARed this night.

"I just?—"

There's a screech on the screen, a dragon appearing out of nowhere, my fictional universe sweeping in to save the day when I clearly can't.

"Oh shit," she says. "What do I do?"

"Right trigger and hit X like a motherfucker," I order as I grab my controller and hurry over to where she's getting decimated, pulling out my weapons, going ham on the creature, if only because it gives me something to do that isn't being an idiot.

I kill it, walking my fictional druid back a good distance away, and then give her some further instructions, talking her through the entrance of the dungeon we're trying to beat.

And I do it while finishing off my beer.

And then another.

I keep drinking as we finally survive the raid.

And as my lids grow heavy and we head back to town to deposit our gold.

And as she asks me questions and puts a couple of items up for sale at the game's auction house.

I keep drinking until all the beer bottles are empty and I'm drunk enough that I have to close my eyes, just for a second.

And I know I drank far too much when I wake up in the morning with a splitting headache, a clean den, a blanket spread out over me, and?—

No sign that Athena had been there at all.

Except for the paper bag from Molly's sitting on the countertop.

And the sense that my hangover is from being drunk on Athena's presence…

Not the beers.