As if I’d accidentally summoned him, Derek emerged from the locker rooms and made a beeline for Jill and me. He glanced in Luke’s direction but didn’t react to seeing him with Sophie. Almost like he was used to the image already.

Derek sighed, running a hand through his sandy brown hair. “Hey, B. Jill.”

“Hey.” I was tempted to raise the Luke issue but knew it wasn’t the time. “Uh, good game.” Normally I would have something more constructive to offer, but my brain was short-circuiting. I glanced over Derek’s shoulder at Luke and Sophie. I couldn’t help it; it was like a train wreck I couldn’t tear my eyes away from. Sophie was everything I wasn’t: petite, girly, feminine. She wore skirts everywhere, had the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen, and didn’t know the difference between spearing and slashing.

“Not really.” Derek shook his head, jaw tight. “I don’t know what’s going on lately. We can’t seem to get our shit together.”

“All teams go through a slump once in a while,” I said, hiking my purse strap up on my shoulder. “I’m sure it’ll pass soon. Anyway, I was just leaving. I’ve got a deadline.” Not true, but it was easier to pretend I had a reason to be somewhere else.

“I’ll text you about tomorrow,” Jillian said, expression apologetic.

I nodded. “Sounds good.”

My eyes landed on Luke and Sophie again, lingering in some form of twisted self-torture. With her small frame and long platinum blond hair, she looked like a real-life Barbie, and he was her Ken. They were probably a better couple than we could have ever been. Which meant the past year and a half I’d spent with him was a complete and utter waste.

A lump formed in my throat. I needed to get out of here, stat. The good news was, I could see the exit. The bad news was, reaching it would require walking past the entire team, including Luke and Sophie. A necessary but unpleasant task.

Just as I started to make another break for it, Paul muttered, “Here comes Carter.” He jerked his chin toward the locker rooms. “What does that asshole want?”

Suddenly, Luke was the least of my problems. I came to a screeching halt, swiveling in the direction Paul had indicated. There he was, in all of his gorgeous, arrogant glory. Broad shoulders in a well-tailored navy suit with a determined expression on his face. Chase Carter.

And he was heading right for me.

Chase weaved through the crowded concourse purposefully, side-stepping the spectators milling about. Several girls stopped and stared, not even trying to hide that they were ogling him. One or two tried to talk to him but appeared to be too tongue-tied to speak. Even a few of the guys he passed were visibly dazzled by his presence.