Page 12 of The Heart Breaker

Sam laughs, tugging at his wraps as he follows me. “Not this kind of club,” he says, throwing an arm over my shoulder.

I stop and shoot him a look.

“Trust me,” he says, shooting me a grin. There’s a weird glint in his eye that immediately makes me suspicious. “This one’s way more fun.” He gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Come on. You look like you could use a night off.”

“Sam’s right, for once,” Marcus says, heading over, toweling off his tight curls as he arches a brow at me, his dark skin gleaming with sweat. “Come out with us tonight. Prove you’re not a robot.”

I roll my eyes and keep moving toward my locker, figuring if I don’t give them anything, they’ll eventually get bored and leave me alone.

No such luck.

“Camila’s coming tonight, right?” he calls, a little louder this time, clearly hoping she’ll hear him over the relentless tap-tap-tap of the speed bag in the corner.

I follow Sam’s gaze and watch her for a second. She doesn’t slow down once, her earphones hanging loose around her neck, her shorts riding up on thick, solid legs as her hands move so fast she makes the rest of us look slow in comparison.

Camila’s the only girl in the club, and she doesn’t take shit from anyone. She’s focused, disciplined, and stupidly good.

Honestly, she could probably kick my ass without breaking a sweat.

Marcus snorts and elbows Sam with a laugh. “Give it up, man. I told you, she’s not into you.”

Sam just shrugs, his gaze lingering on Camila for a second too long.

Christ. Is everyone around me a bunch of lovesick pussies?

He catches me looking and clears his throat, plastering on a grin. “So… you coming tonight or what?”

I should say no. I’ve already got enough shit on my plate. But the idea of an hour—hell, even five minutes—where I don’t have to think sounds pretty good right now. Better than sittingaround with the hockey guys, anyway. Viper will probably be there, hanging around, since she’salwaysaround, and that’s the last thing I need.

“I’ll think about it,” I mutter, picking at the tape around my wrists.

Sam grins and claps me on the shoulder before heading out.

By the time I make it to the showers, the place is mostly cleared out. A few lockers slam somewhere in the distance, but otherwise it’s quiet. I strip down and step under the water, letting the heat pound against the back of my neck until my muscles start to loosen.

I scrub harder than I need to, trying to scrape the exhaustion out of my skin. I stay there until my fingers wrinkle and the water starts running cold.

I cut the water and step out, toweling off before I stop in front of the mirror. I drag a hand across the glass to clear it and end up staring at my own reflection, my eyes darker than I remember. I look as tired as I feel.

I wrap the towel around my waist and reach into my locker for my phone, checking for a text from Sophie.

My muscles tighten when I see she hasn’t replied yet. I quickly get dressed, toss my phone into my duffel, sling it over my shoulder, and push through the door. I shove my hands into my pockets as I head for my car, telling myself I’m not checking my phone again until I get home.

I already know that’s bullshit.

6

COLE

Most nights, I end up with the guys from the hockey team, which usually means sitting around while half of them hang off their girlfriends. So when Sam and Marcus kept pushing me to come out with them, I figured it might at least be a decent distraction. An hour or two when I don’t have to think.

Instead, I’m standing in a strip club that’s loud as hell and somehow even grimier than it looked from the outside, the bass pounding through my chest and lights flashing hard enough to make my head throb.

A couple of guys from the gym are already at the stage, throwing singles at a dancer in six-inch heels as she swings around the pole.

“This is the club you wouldn’t shut up about?” I ask, blowing a bubble that snaps against my tongue as I arch a brow at Sam, who’s grinning like he just hit the lottery. “Pretty pathetic, paying for pussy.”

Sam laughs and slings an arm around my shoulders. I knock it off without even looking at him. “Come on, Ellis,” he says over the bass. “You telling me you’ve never paid for a dance?”