Heath takes it and thanks him, while I smile awkwardly.

“Uh, you guys good?” Rhett shifts uncomfortably. “Should I call Adam? I think he went with Maverick and Taryn on a taco run.”

Heath’s fingers continue to stroke my arms and back. “I’ve got her.”

That’s all the convincing Rhett needs to get the heck out of my bubble of crazy.

“I’m fine. Really. You can go now,” I say, chest still rising and falling too fast. “Go back to the girl in your bed.”

“You’re not fine. You’re having a panic attack. And there’s no one in my bed. I left right after you.” He hands me the cup of water. “Try to take a sip or two. Sometimes forcing your brain to do something else helps.”

I do as he instructs, and the cool liquid does seem to help a tiny bit. Enough that I can better appreciate the man in front of me. He’s shirtless, his ab muscles defined even as he sits. Blue basketball shorts hang on his hips, but his bare calves press against my back.

When I finally feel the sharp edges of my fear dissipate, I finish the water and let out a long, cleansing breath. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. His arms wrap around me again and he rubs my back softly.

“For getting myself locked in and for that.” I point toward the busted door. The trim hangs away from the wall where the lock pushed it away from the frame.

“That’s nothing. Don’t even worry about it. Are you feeling better?”

I nod. “I want to go to bed.”

“Okay.” He moves his legs and groans. “I think I might be stuck.”

Standing, I offer him my hand. He smiles goofily as he places his calloused palm in mine, and I attempt to help him up. Somehow, we manage to get him upright and he’s so close my breathing picks up all over again, but for a completely different reason.

He notices and his brows furrow. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“This kind of thing happen before?” he asks and then adds, “When you’ve been drinking.”

I nod, refusing to meet his concerned blue eyes. “I just need some sleep.” And to wake up and pretend this never happened.

As gracefully as one can in this situation, I step out of the tub and glance at the burned-out light bulb over the vanity. “How many hockey players does it take to change a lightbulb?”

He follows me out of the bathroom. I walk to Adam’s open bedroom and face him. “Well, this was humiliating and awful. Pretend it never happened?”

His lips twist into a playful smile and he reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Night, Ginny.”