Page 25 of Playing Her Game

Deacon looks between us, his expression dry. "We'll be here all night if you think you'll win a staring contest with her. Let's go."

I close the app.

"Fine."

The ride to JFK stretches longer than it should, traffic crawling through Brooklyn toward Queens. I sit in the back beside Anna, the space between us charged in a way I don't have time to analyze right now.

Every time I glance forward, Lenzin Faulker is looking at me in the rearview mirror. Not glaring. Just staring, steady and unblinking, like he's cataloging every breath I take.

I look away. Check my phone. Look back.

Still staring.

Anna shifts beside me, holding her side like she's being careful not to jar her ribs. Nothing was said at the hospital about injury to them.

"Your ribs hurt?" I ask.

She hisses, "Shhh."

Her reaction causes my eyebrows to jump up, and I glance toward Faulker again. He's still looking.

I whisper under my breath, "Your ribs hurt, you need to get them checked out."

"Thank you, Doc Hockey. I'll take that under advisement."

Ooo, I like her, perhaps a little too much.

Deacon clears his throat. "Rez, you're cutting it close."

"I know."

"Your flight boards in forty minutes."

"I can catch the next if I miss it."

Deacon's eyes flick to the mirror. He doesn't push.

We pull up to the departures curb, and I see some of my teammates immediately. Three Phoenix players are waiting by the concrete barrier, duffel bags at their feet, hoodies pulled up against the December cold. They straighten when they see the vehicle.

Jax catches sight of Anna through the window. His gaze locks on the stitches above her eyebrow, and he swears under his breath.

I push the door open before anyone can say something they'll regret later. Myself included.

The cold air hits hard after the warmth of the vehicle. I step out.

But so do they: Kilovac, Faulker, and Deacon, who leans against the vehicle, expression unreadable.

I look at the three of them and my three guys. "Picture for socials."

Faulker exhales through his nose. "You're kidding."

"No." I wave Jax, Lincoln, and Hayes over.

Kilovac steps forward without hesitation. No smirk. No commentary. Just moves.

Faulker follows, slower. He stops beside Kilovac, and his jaw tightens as he studies me.

"Means you too, Deacon," Faulker says.