Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (black books to read txt) 📗

As soon as I slam the door shut, darkness and a stench of artificial lemon, the kind that many floor detergents use, smack me in the face. I try to take a step, but my toes bump into something, and a plastic rattling like a bucket tumbling fills the surrounding space.

Oh, no! This is no emergency exit. 

Wyatt chuckles. “This is getting weirder and weirder.”

“Shhh.” I reach back to cover his mouth with my hand as swishing steps echo in the corridor.

Wyatt’s fiery breath titillates my palm, but I keep my fingers on his face, too afraid that if I let go, he’ll make a smarty-pants comment—which, for the record, I truly deserve. What was I thinking going into the cleaning supply closet?—and Pete will hear us.

There’s a loud clank, then a thump, and finally silence.

“Okay, I think he’s gone.” I withdraw my fingers from Wyatt’s lips, pivoting to him.

The light oozing in from below the door isn’t enough to illuminate his face, but now that my eyes have adjusted to the dark somewhat, it’s enough to make out his lifted brows.

An urge to justify my behavior swamps me. “I didn’t want Pete to see us.”

“I gathered as much.” Wyatt’s voice hides more than a hint of amusement. “Can we go out now?”

“No, let’s speak here.”

The hideout I chose is tiny, stinky, and the humidity in it is bound to make my curls frizzy. Still, at least nobody can spot us together and wonder what we’re doing.

“What do we need to speak about so urgently that our best option is to hide with spiders, buckets, and mops?” he asks.

His mocking question makes me remember my previous irritation, and my jitters subside. I narrow my eyes, even if I know Wyatt can’t perceive my menacing glare. “Is there even a need to ask? You broke our rules.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

Wyatt shakes his head. “You’re wrong. The only thing I did was phone Pete and invite him to eat together.”

I poke him in the chest. “Huh, so you admit that since I told you not to phone Dev, you made Pete invite you.”

Wyatt scratches his neck, and his elbow bumps against a broom hanging on the wall. He catches it before it can drop to the floor and props it against the wall. “How was I supposed to know that the dinner you spoke about wasn’t just a tête-à-tête with your brother? You never said Pete would be with you too.”

He’s right. I didn’t.

“Well, when you found out, you shouldn’t have joined him,” I complain.

Wyatt shakes his head. “Wasn’t possible. Pete told me to tag along. It would’ve been awkward, not to say rude, to fend him off.”

“Still, you shouldn’t be here. Now we need to pretend the entire night around each other. It won’t be long before the others suspect something,” I reiterate my point, but my voice has lost its sharp edge.

“We’re hiding in a closet together. That, on its own, is enough to raise suspicions.”

I can hear the amusement in his voice, and his breath tickles the tip of my nose.

“Nobody knows we’re in here,” I mumble. “I saved us from Pete’s questions.”

Wyatt sighs. “Maybe we wouldn’t need saving if we told everyone about—”

“No. That’s rule number one.”

“Tonight proves that your rules are hard to keep,” he says.

Shuffling steps interrupt us. We both hold our breaths as Pete walks past, whistling the song, “Just a Gigolo.”

When the music and the sound of Pete’s shoes die off, I cross my arms across my chest. “If you don’t want my rules, then you should look for another therapist.”

I’m bluffing, of course.

I’m in no position of setting an end to my collaboration with Wyatt. Not unless I want to look for another job.

“Don’t say that. I—” Wyatt lifts his hand.

I brace myself for the impact with his skin, but he lowers his arm again.

A pang of disappointment sizzles through me.

I’m going nuts. It must be this stuffy closet messing with my brain. Why else would I feel aghast that Wyatt didn’t go through with his gesture?

“—I’m sorry,” Wyatt continues. “Let’s keep all the rules you want. I need this therapy more than I thought.”

His tone hides something undefinable. Perhaps a hint of fear, as if he senses an abyss and is scared to drop into it.

It makes me call off my trick, and I say, “Okay, then let’s keep everything as it was. We’ll meet tomorrow for your therapy.”

I reach for the door handle and push the door ajar. The bright light of the corridor makes me squint.

Wyatt steps beside me. “Can I stay for dinner?”

I’d prefer if he didn’t, but I need to prove to myself that the disconcerting desire for Wyatt to touch me means nothing, so I nod. “Yes. But we shouldn’t go back together. Wait here a minute before returning to our table.”

I march out to the dining area with my chin high, but in my chest, odd ripples are billowing from our weird timeout.

Laia looks up and smiles. “Ah, here you are. I was getting worried. I thought you got trapped somewhere.”

The blood drains from my face.

“Is everything okay, sugar?” Cora asks.

“Yes, of course. I’m just a little tired,” I murmur, “so I stepped outside for a whiff of fresh air.” I hop down on the chair.

Devon pats his fiancée’s hand. “You see, sweetie, I told you, there are no big bad wolves in El Placer.”

My heart skips a beat.

Except there are.

Chapter 12

(Ellie)

TEN YEARS AGO

“Little Red Riding Hood?” Hope examines the sticky note I received only a minute ago when she and I arrived at the Sigma Phi Beta frat house. “It suits you,” she adds with a smile.

I roll my eyes at her. “I seriously doubt that. Remind me, why did we drive to Tucson to participate in this?”

“Because it’s Friday night, and we wanted a nice breather from our own boring campus life.” Hope pats my shoulder.

“Well, if that was the plan, we failed miserably,” I murmur between my teeth.

It’s my first “Find Your Magical