“If you tell anyone about this conversation, I’ll kick your ass,” he said.

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

With a nod, he stood and left the room. I watched him go, deep in thought. I was twenty-three. I was a Puck Brother, for fuck’s sake. I didn’t need a woman to complete me or nag at me or try to control me. This entire conversation with Ice had been like something out of those old Twilight Zone shows Steele liked to watch.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

I didn’t know why I wasn’t enjoying the rookie experience as much as I should be, but that emptiness inside me had nothing to do with a woman. Maybe more like wanting something I couldn’t have. Some deeply buried part of me had always assumed Caro would be waiting when I chose to come back and claim her.

The entire thing had been eating at me lately, and my feelings on the matter were ludicrous.

With a sigh, I pushed to my feet. Time to go home and see what culinary delight Kaden had concocted. The man could cook.

I walked wearily to my truck. I did need a nap.

I slipped into the leather seat of my Chevy 2500HD and started the engine. It purred like the finely tuned machine it was. I don’t know why I bought this truck. It wasn’t like I pulled a trailer or hauled heavy shit with it. My ego must’ve been talking when I’d gone car shopping after getting my signing bonus.

I went home to the condo and hung out with Steele for the night, playing video games and watching a game.

I was about to call it a night when my phone rang. I frowned at the device. When someone called this late, it wasn’t necessarily good. Maybe one of the Puck Bros had been arrested and needed bailed out.

I picked it up. Not recognizing the number, I considered letting it go to voicemail, but I was inexplicably compelled to answer that call.

“Yeah?” I said, waiting to chew some solicitor’s ass. A long silence followed. I almost hung up but didn’t.

“Easton?” The hesitant female voice struck a nerve deep inside me, bringing back melancholy memories of another time and place. I knew that voice, but I was in denial.

“Yeah.” Suspicion crept into my tone. Had some recent one-night stand managed to get my phone number? There’d been a few. Not a lot, but enough to keep my standing as a Puck Brother intact.

“It’s—it’s Caroline. Caroline Mills, uh, Jones.”

I gaped at the phone as if I expected a monster to emerge from the screen and swallow me in one big gulp. My palm was sweaty, and the device started to slip from my hand. I fumbled to catch it before it hit the floor.

Caroline?

I gripped the phone until my knuckles were white. My breathing was rapid and shallow like I was about to have a fucking panic attack or exhibit some stupid wussy behavior my teammates would be appalled to witness. A quick glance around the room didn’t reveal my roommates had appeared out of the woodwork to witness my loss of composure and near breakdown. I unclenched my hand from the phone before I crushed it. My fucking hands were shaking. My forehead had broken out in a sweat.