CHAPTER 5

HAPTER 5

Tyler 

“Coach, come on,” I said, trailing him like a desperate puppy as he went down the list. “Room assignments can’t be final. You can’t do this to me.”

Coach didn’t even slow down. “You’re a grown man, Reyes. You can share four walls with another grown man without combusting.”

“That’s debatable,” I muttered. “Switch me with literally anyone. I’ll take the guy who snores like a chainsaw. I’ll take the guy who watches horror movies at three a.m. Just not him.”

“Request denied.”

I groaned loud enough to make heads turn.

Malik gave me a pity pat on the shoulder. “Rest in peace, man.” He looked over at Liam who was smirking like the devil. “Guess it’s you and me then.”

“Room twelve, baby,” Liam said, holding up his key card like it was a trophy. “No drama, no enemies. Just peace and N*****x.”

“Rot in hell,” I told them.

They both laughed, slapped my back, and walked off, already debating what snacks to raid from the retreat pantry.

Then Mason Grant strolled past like the universe hated me personally.

He didn’t even look at the paper in Coach’s hand. Just winked. “See you in twenty-four, Reyes.”

I wanted to throw my key card at his stupid, perfect face. Instead, I gritted my teeth and walked in the opposite direction—straight toward my doom.

Room 24.

I stood there for a full thirty seconds, key card in hand, trying to convince myself it wouldn’t be that bad. We were adults now. Professionals. Civilized human beings.

The door clicked open, and any hope I had evaporated.

Mason was already there, sprawled across one of the two queen beds like a king surveying his territory. Shirtless, naturally. Tattoos stretching over his chest and down his arms, black ink against golden skin. One arm behind his head, the other scrolling lazily through his phone.

“You’re early,” I said flatly.

“You’re late.” He didn’t look up.

“Check-in started fifteen minutes ago.”

“I was here twenty minutes ago.” His eyes flicked up to meet mine, smug as hell. “Gotta claim my turf before you start contaminating it.”

“Don’t wrinkle my sheets, Reyes.”

I dropped my bag on the floor by the other bed. “Don’t breathe my air, Grant.”

That earned me a slow smirk, the kind that made my blood pressure spike for all the wrong reasons.

We unpacked in tense silence.

Or at least, I unpacked in tense silence. Mason unpacked like he was filming a commercial—deliberate, leisurely, stretching every movement like he knew I was watching.

I wasn’t watching.

Much.

Okay, maybe a little.

He tossed shirts into the closet like he owned the place, then reached for the hem of the one he was wearing and peeled it off in one smooth motion.

God.

Broad shoulders. Defined chest. That deep V cut dipping into the waistband of his joggers.

I looked away so fast I almost gave myself whiplash.

“Something wrong, Reyes?”

“No.”

“You’re quiet.”

“I’m unpacking.”

He made a thoughtful noise, like he didn’t believe me, and went back to his drawer. I could feel him grinning without even looking.

A knock on the open door pulled my attention. Avery leaned in, grinning. “You two all settled in, lovebirds?”

“Get out,” I said.

“Don’t scratch the furniture,” Damien added from the hallway. “Or each other.”

“Or do,” Caleb said in his usual deadpan.

Mason chuckled, still not looking at them. “Later, boys.”

They left, laughing, and I resisted the urge to throw my shoe at all three of them.

I focused on my side of the room. Socks in the bottom drawer. Workout gear in the middle. Civilized, organized, safe.

Then Mason’s voice cut in. “Huh.”

I turned. “What?”

He was holding something up between his fingers—a faded navy t-shirt, worn soft from years of washing.

“This still your size?”

My chest tightened.

It was that shirt. From that night. Ten years ago. The night everything changed. The night I’d kissed him once, in the dark, and then pretended it never happened.

“How the hell do you have that?” I asked, my voice sharper than I meant.

His smile was slow. Dangerous.

“Guess we’re about to find out,” he said and walked out.

Just then, there was a knock.

“Reyes, let’s go,” Malik called, leaning against the doorframe. “They’re starting without us.”

I zipped my hoodie halfway, already annoyed. “What of Liam?”

“He’s already there, probably flirting with the waitress.” Malik grinned, clearly enjoying my pain. “Come on. Coach will have my ass if you’re late.”

I shoved my phone into my pocket and followed him out, muttering under my breath. “I hate this. I hate this retreat. I hate—”

“—him?” Malik finished for me. He clapped a hand on my back, laughing. “Yeah, we all know. But at least you get good scenery.”

“Malik—”

We turned the corner and almost ran straight into Caleb. He was walking with Mason, deep in conversation.

Perfect.

I made an exaggerated motion of smacking the back of Mason’s head. Malik snorted.

Unfortunately, Mason must have felt it, because he glanced over his shoulder right as I jerked my arms above my head in a fake stretch.

Smooth.

His eyes lingered on me for a beat too long before he smirked and turned away.

The dining hall was buzzing, both teams scattered across long tables. Cameras were already set up in the corners — promotional footage for the “team bonding experience,” as the league called it.

I was halfway to the far end when Mason slid into the seat right beside mine.

“Nope,” I muttered, standing up.

His hand shot out, fingers curling around my wrist as he pulled me back down. “Sit, Reyes.”

“Get your hand off—”

“Smile for the cameras.”

I glanced up. Sure enough, one of the media interns had their lens trained on us.

I plastered on the fakest smile I could manage. “I hate you.”

“Good,” he said easily, turning his attention to the bread basket.

Across the table, Avery grinned. “So… Tyler. About that club photo.”

Damien leaned in like he’d been waiting all night for this. “Yeah, the one where you two looked like you were about to… you know.” He made an obscene gesture with his fingers.

“Fight?” I deadpanned.

Mason’s knee brushed mine under the table.

“No, the one where your faces were, like—” Damien gestured an inch apart. “Hot. Tense. Sexual.”

“It was an argument,” I said, keeping my voice calm.

“Looked like foreplay,” Avery said.

Mason’s foot slid up my calf.

I jerked back, hitting the edge of my chair. “Knock it off,” I hissed.

“Sorry,” Mason said innocently, though his eyes were pure sin.

I tried focusing on my plate, but every few seconds his knee would nudge mine, his foot would slide higher, his leg pressing into mine just enough to make heat crawl up my neck.

“Reyes, you okay?” Malik asked from across the table.

“I’m fine,” I lied, stabbing my fork into my chicken like it had personally wronged me.

Mason’s voice was soft, only for me. “You’re blushing.”

I leaned toward him. “If you don’t stop, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” he interrupted, tone low, daring.

My heart was doing this weird pounding thing that had nothing to do with anger. Or maybe everything to do with it.

Halfway through dessert, I couldn’t take it anymore. I shoved my chair back and stood. “Bathroom.”

“Want me to come hold your hand?” Mason asked.

I didn’t dignify that with a response. I just walked out, jaw tight, heading toward the cool night air outside.

The second I stepped onto the patio, I inhaled like I’d been underwater for hours

.

Of course, the universe wouldn’t give me five minutes.

The door creaked open behind me.

“Run all you want, Reyes.”

I closed my eyes.

Mason’s voice was low, smug. “You always come back.”