Page 7 of Rush

“Your locker room?” I question, lifting a brow.

“Are you a football groupie?”

“No!” I bark out a laugh.

“Because, if you broke in here, I’ll have your ass hauled out with one phone call,” he continues, clearly ignoring me.

I slam my hands on my hips, momentarily forgetting I need them to cover the girls, and then I put them back over my chest.

He smirks at me.

Asshole.

“Look, I’m not a groupie, okay? It’s my first day here. I got caught in the rain. I came in here, looking to borrow a shirt, as I can’t wear this one. You caught me about to change into one.”

“And you were bent over for the fun of it?”

“No, I was doing yoga.”

“Yoga?” He looks at me like I’m mental.

He wouldn’t be wrong.

“I was stressed about my shitty start to the day, and I practice yoga to de-stress. I thought I was alone. I was literally just doing the one pose to help clear my mind, and then I was going to put on a shirt and get out of here.”

“And which shirt were you putting on?” He glances over at his changing spot and then back at me, brows raised.

“Uh…” I’m stumbling. Deep breath. “Okay, I was going to borrow one of yours. But I was going to find another to put in its place.”

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay?” My brows draw together as I look up at him.

“Yep. It sounds plausible. Weird as fuck. But plausible.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. He laughs, too.

“I’m going to go.” Freeing one arm, I stand my heels up and slip my feet into them, appreciating the extra height they give me, but I still look like a child next to him.

“Don’t you need a shirt to wear?” he says.

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Here.” He reaches over and grabs a white dress shirt from one of the hangers. “Wear this. It’ll be big on you, so you’ll have to roll up the sleeves, but it’s better than a team shirt.”

“Thank you.” I smile genuinely. “I appreciate it. I’ll wash it tonight and bring it back tomorrow.”

“No rush,” he tells me.

“Thank you,” I say again.

I start to walk past him when he says, “I’m Ares, by the way.”

I stop and slide my eyes up to his. I feel a jolt at the visual contact. “I know who you are, quarterback.”

He smiles at that. “You said it was your first day.”

“Yes,” I say slowly, my mouth suddenly drying.