Page 86 of Playing Dirty
That was the lie I told myself on the walk there.
Blackthorne Arena looked the same as always from the outside—glass, steel, too much money pretending to be discipline—but it felt different today.
Like something inside it had shifted without permission.
I adjusted my bag strap and slowed near the entrance.
Serena texted behind me:
don’t pretend you’re not going in for him
I didn’t reply.
Because she was wrong.
And right.
That was the problem.
Inside, the corridor was already loud with post-practice movement.
Lockers. Shoes. Voices. Water bottles hitting benches.
Normal.
Except I noticed him instantly.
Not because he stood out.
Because I expected him to.
Mason was at the far end of the hallway, towel around his neck, talking to Jace.
Same posture. Same controlled stillness. Same expression like nothing ever really touched him unless he allowed it.
Except today—
he wasn’t fully there.
His eyes flicked up first.
To me.
Then immediately away.
Too fast.
Not casual.
Not indifferent.
Corrected.
Like he had to remind himself not to look.
That detail shouldn’t have mattered.
It did.
