Chapter 16
Sixteen
BASS
Three weeks into our arrangement, and I'm starting to think I fucked myself over.
Not because Kai isn't incredible at what she does—she's a goddamn genius.
Watching her transform my public image has been like watching magic happen.
My social media numbers are through the roof.
I haven't gotten into a single fight, on or off the ice.
Even Coach Dixon pulled me aside yesterday to say whatever's got into me, keep it up.
The problem isn't the work.
The problem is that I'm catching feelings for a girl I can't touch in public, can't claim as mine, can't even look at the way I want to when other people are around.
And it's eating me alive.
Tonight's home game against Nevada State—the same assholes whose player I rocked last month—feels like the perfect storm. A test of my restraint, my new image, and this fucked up double life I'm living.
I'm in the locker room, taping my stick, when Neo plops down next to me.
"You've been acting weird lately," he says.
"Weird how?"
"I don't know. Less...you. Shane thinks you're on antidepressants or some shit."
I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "I'm not on drugs."
"Then what's your deal? This brand management thing with Vega actually working some miracle?"
Just hearing her name makes my chest tight. "Something like that."
“Are you in love?” he asks, and I’m not sure if he’s serious or not with that damn straight face of his.
“Hell, no,” I defend, although an unexplainable ball forms at the base of my throat after saying it.
“Yeah, but–” Neo studies me with those sharp eyes that always see too much. "There's something you're not telling me."
Before I can deflect, Claude bursts through the doors like a hurricane.
"Gentlemen!" he shouts. "Tonight we fucking annihilate these Nevada State dickheads. Bass, you ready to show them what happens when they fuck with our house?"
Six weeks ago, I would have been hyped. Ready to throw hands the second someone breathed wrong.
Tonight, all I can think about is Kai's voice in my head, reminding me that fighting will destroy everything we've built. A part of me knows that no matter what, I’ll be fine, but it’s her I’m worried about.
Her next move after college is dependent on fixing what’s wrong with my image.
"I'm ready to win," I say instead.
Claude's face scrunches up like I just spoke Mandarin. "That's it? No threats? No promises to make them eat ice?"
"The scoreboard will do the talking."
Shane and Neo exchange a look that says they know this isn't normal Bass Morelli behavior.
"Alright, boys," Coach Dixon booms across the room. "Tonight's about proving we're not the same undisciplined team from earlier this season. We play smart. We play clean. We fucking dominate."
As we head toward the tunnel, I spot Kai through the glass.
Per our agreement, she's in the stands, every home game, looking like a damn snack in her VCU scarf. But I wish she were here, enjoying the game, and rooting for the man she’s fucking.
Instead, she’s all business, holding her tablet, probably documenting every move I make for her analysis.
She looks beautiful, untouchable, and completely professional.
I hate it.
Our eyes meet for half a second, and every instinct I have screams at me to wave, to wink, to do something that shows she's here for me and not just for academic credit. I can’t explain it, but I feel territorial about her, and it’s not just because I’ve been inside of her.
Hell, if that was the case, I’d feel that way about ten girls in the stands right now.
Kai’s different.
After our awkward glance, I look away like she's a stranger.
Why? Because that's the stupid ass deal we made, and I’m a man of my word.
The game starts brutal. Nevada State comes out swinging, clearly still pissed about last month. Their left wing, Martinez—the same fucker I can’t stand—keeps taking cheap shots every chance he gets.
"What's wrong, Morelli?" he taunts during a face-off. "Lost your balls since last time?"
I focus on the puck drop and ignore him.
"I heard you got a handler now," he continues. "Some uptight cunt keeping you on a short leash?"
My grip tightens on my stick, but I don't bite. People talk too much. How does he even know about Kai?
We win the face-off. I send it clean to Neo, who feeds Shane for a beautiful top-shelf goal. The crowd explodes, and I allow myself one quick glance at Kai.
She's smiling, typing like crazy on her tablet.
But she's not looking at me. Not celebrating my assist. Not acknowledging that I exist.
Because she can't.
Or maybe it’s more like she won’t.
Second period, more of the same bullshit from Martinez. During one play, he boards me so hard I taste copper, and it’s starting to piss me off.
"Penalty, boarding, number twelve," the ref calls.
As I skate to the bench, something in the stands catches my eye and makes my blood turn to ice.
Jack fucking Morrison is sitting two seats from Kai.
This fucker is like a roach. Crawling all over my house and refusing to die.
He's leaning over, pointing at something on her tablet, making her laugh at whatever joke he's telling.
She looks comfortable. Relaxed. Happy in a way I never get to see when we're around other people, only when we’re alone.
I know they're just friends, but I also know guys, and the way he looks at her tells me everything I need to know about his intentions. He wants her. He wants what’s mine. Hell, a part of me doesn’t blame him. She’s a fucking goddess.
But watching her talk freely with him, someone she doesn't have to hide, someone she can be seen with without worrying about gossip or judgment...
It feels like getting punched in the gut.
"Morelli!" Coach Dixon's voice cuts through my spiral. "You're up. Keep your head in the fucking game."
I hop over the boards, but my focus is shot. The rest of the period, I keep stealing glances at Kai and Jack, watching their easy interaction and hating every second of it.
Third period, Martinez makes one last attempt to get me to snap. During a scrum in front of our net, he cross-checks me in the kidneys and whispers, "Your little social media manager seems real cozy with that kid up there. Maybe she's tired of slumming it with hockey trash."
That's it. My stick comes up, ready to cave his face in, when I hear it.
"Bass!"
Kai's voice cuts through the crowd noise like a blade. Sharp. Clear. Worried.
I look up at her, and she's staring right at me with an expression that's half warning, half desperation.
For a split second, I don't give a shit who's watching or what people might think.
She said my name. She's looking at me like I matter to her.
So I lower my stick and skate away from Martinez, leaving him looking confused as hell.
We win 4-1. I finished with two assists and zero penalty minutes—probably a record for any game against Nevada State.
In the locker room afterward, the guys are celebrating like we just won the championship, but all I can think about is getting to Kai, about finding some dark corner where I can kiss her and remind myself why I agreed to this torture.
But by the time I make it to the concourse, she's vanished.
I text her.
Me: Where are you?
Her response comes ten long agonizing minutes later.
Vega: Had to leave early. I see why people love hockey now. That was an amazing game!
Pride swells throughout my chest.
Me: Can I see you tonight?
Vega: Sue's having people over for her birthday. Rain check?
I stare at that message for a long time, feeling something cold and ugly settle in my chest. I’ve been around Sue enough over the last month that I should’ve been invited to a birthday kickback at their apartment. It’s petty, but I’m feeling some kind of way about it.
Me: Girls only?
I hate that I just texted that weak ass question.
Vega: Um, I’m not in charge of the guest list.
Damn…now I feel like a desperate asshole who’s just been sidelined.
But what do you expect, dummy, I tell myself.
This is what I signed up for. This is the price of being with someone who thinks being seen with me is a liability.
But standing here in an empty arena, still buzzing from the win and desperate to share it with the girl who's becoming a lot to me, I'm starting to wonder if the price is too fucking high.
I grab an Uber home alone, windows down, music up in my headphones, trying to convince myself that the moments alone between us are enough.
They have to be enough.
Because losing her entirely would be monumentally worse.
But damn, this secret lover shit is not for the faint of heart. And I’m starting to wonder if I’m built for it.
Hell, will I even survive it?