(Danica)
My phone buzzed on the nightstand just as I was finally drifting off.
The screen lit up with an unknown number. I stared at it for a long moment before opening the message.
Unknown: Hey. It’s Kane. Didn’t expect you to actually give me your number. Just wanted to check if the drink helped with the cramps. And… if you’re okay after tonight. No tricks. No bullshit. Just checking.
I sat up slowly, ribs protesting, heart hammering for a completely different reason now. Kane Harlow — the same man who had tried to break me on the ice, whose father was pressuring the AD to remove me, who had spent months calling me a liability — was texting me like we were… what? Friends? Rivals with a truce? Something neither of us wanted to name?
I typed back before I could overthink it.
Danica:
