Page 51 of Disarm
He stirs a little, mumbling something in his sleep, hand twitching toward where I was lying. I press a kiss to his shoulder before slipping out of bed.
It’s still early. Maybe five thirty.He deserves to sleep in.
I dress quietly, pulling on jeans and the same hoodie I wore to the game. My body’s sore from a combination of lack of sleep, travel, and too much adrenaline. Still, I feel lighter, like everything’s a little easier to handle today.
Outside, the city’s waking up. The air’s got that early-morning chill from the Pacific Ocean nearby, sharp enough tomake me pull the hood up over my head. The smell of coffee and fried dough drifts through the block, guiding me toward a little cart on the corner. The guy behind it is setting out trays of pan dulce—conchas, cuernitos, and empanadas that are sure to melt in your mouth.
“Buenos días,”I greet, smiling as I hand over a few bills.“Dos conchas, rosa y chocolate, por favor.”
He nods.“¿Para llevar?”
“Sí, gracias.”I add two cups of horchata to the order, thinking of Caleb’s face every time he gets it. Like it’s his favorite thing on the planet.
It feels good doing something like this. I think of his dad bringing my mom pan dulce when we were kids. I used to wake up to them dancing in the kitchen, my mom smiling, and his dad looking at her like she was his whole world.I get it now.
As I’m heading back toward the hotel, I catch some movement near the side entrance—a flash of long blonde hair, a girl tugging a jacket around her shoulders. She’s whispering something over her shoulder, soft and nervous.
“I’ll text you when I’m back.”
The voice that answers is familiar.
“Drive safe.”
Too familiar.
Anderson.
Of course it’s him.
He steps out into the light, hair mussed, wearing sweats and a self-satisfied grin that makes me want to laugh. He doesn’t see me right away, too busy watching her walk away but when he does, his posture stiffens.
“Good morning,” he mutters, clearing his throat.
I take a slow sip of my drink and tilt my head. “Yes, it is.”
For a second, we just stand there. The silence stretches, heavy with the memory of the parking lot and the way he hit theground like a little bitch. I should probably let it go. But I don’t feel like being the bigger man today.
I click my tongue. “Guess you just have a thing for blondes, huh?”
Anderson’s jaw flexes, eyes flicking toward me. Then he smirks, all false confidence. “Guess so.”
I arch a brow. “Figures.”
He shrugs like he doesn’t care, but the twitch in his jaw says otherwise. “You came to watch Caleb play?”
I nod.
“You stayed the night too, I guess.”
He looks jealous.It’s not a good look.
“Guess you could say that,” I answer easily, balancing the bag of pastries in one hand. “You know, making suremyboyfriend is taken care of.”
His smirk falters for half a second before he forces it back. “Right. He… played pretty good last night.”
“Yeah,” I say, stepping closer, just enough to let my presence sink in. “He’s been happy lately. Funny how that helps.”
Anderson’s eyes drop, guilt flickering there before he hides it under another smirk. “Well… good for him.”
