Chapter 83 KNOX

Chapter 83 KNOX
The locker room should’ve cleared my head. Usually did.

Noise. Terrible music. Someone bitching about a stolen protein shake. Guys arguing over who’d had the worst practice. 

And, because this was a locker room full of college athletes with the emotional maturity of wet cardboard, the usual running commentary on every girl they’d seen that week—who had the best tits, whose ass looked better in leggings, who was “definitely a ten from behind.” 

The usual chaos that normally drowned out everything else in my skull.

Instead, I was halfway through pulling my jersey over my head when I heard it.

“—no, but seriously, did you see Reyes’ girl this morning?”

I froze, shirt still tangled around my shoulders.

“Janice? Janet?”

"Whatever the hell her name is. But holy shit." A low whistle followed. "Didn't even recognize her without the hoodie. Or the glasses."

A couple of guys laughed.
“No way she’s had legs like that this whole time and nobody clocked it. One year, man. One year of hoodies, hiding that. Should be illegal.”

“Forget the legs, man—don’t get me started on her tits. Fuck, did you see the size of those? Absolute fucking beauties.”

“Bro, the way that dress was holding them up? Criminal. They were practically fighting their way out.”

“I’m talking serious gravity-defying shit. No way that’s natural and also no way I care.”

“Reyes is walking around with that on his arm and we’re supposed to focus on practice? Unrealistic expectations.”

Something in my chest went very still.
My jaw locked. This was what we did—talked shit in the locker room, joked about girls, rated who was hot, who had a nice ass, who had great tits.

Stupid, immature bullshit I’d been part of more times than I could count without thinking twice.

Hearing them do it about her felt like a different sport entirely.

“Reyes definitely got lucky with that one,” someone said, and a few guys chuckled.

“How the hell did he find that kind of treasure hiding under all that?”

“Maybe he’s just got better eyesight than the rest of us.”

“Or maybe she only dresses like that for him. Private show. Lucky bastard.”

“I’d risk a penalty for a closer look. Maybe a suspension. Worth it.”

My jaw tightened another notch.
“Apparently she’s got a whole different side,” someone else added, like they were narrating a nature documentary.

“Quiet little library mouse by day, walking wet dream by morning commute.”

I pulled my jersey the rest of the way off. Slow. Very fucking slow.

Then Dobbs laughed. “Forget the personality. That dress was doing some serious work. If she bent over even once, half the campus would’ve needed medical attention—and my cock would’ve filed a formal complaint for neglect.”

The guys around him cracked up.
“Seriously though,” another voice added, “if Reyes ever gets bored of her, I’d be more than happy to take her off his hands.”

“Get in line.”

“I’d wreck that. No hesitation.”

My hands curled into fists at my sides.
Hunter, elbow-deep in his locker, went still. Slate looked up mid-shoelace. 

Neither of them said a word. They didn’t need to. They’d both clocked the change in my breathing from ten feet away.

“Can’t blame Reyes for showing her off,” someone said.

“Yeah, but I’d watch it if I were him. Half the campus was staring like they’d never seen a pair of legs before.”

Dobbs grinned, entirely too pleased with the audience he’d gathered. 

“Pretty sure Reyes was enjoying the attention. Hell, if she were my girl, I’d—”

“Don’t.”

My voice cut through the room. Quiet. Flat. The kind of quiet that made everyone else suddenly find something urgent to look at on the floor.

Dobbs stopped mid-sentence.I was already walking.

One step. Then another. The locker-room noise died around us in pieces — a locker slamming shut, someone killing the music, Hunter straightening up out of the corner of my eye, Slate's expression going hard and flat.

Dobbs looked up at me, and whatever confidence he'd had a second ago had already started leaking out of his face.

"Reyes..."

I stopped in front of him. "You want to finish that sentence?"

His smile disappeared.

"I just meant—"

"I heard you." My voice was calm. Too calm — the kind of calm that came right before something broke. I could feel my own pulse in my teeth.

He shifted. "Knox, I wasn't trying to—"

"She isn't something you get to discuss like she's a fucking highlight reel."

My hands had curled into fists without my permission. I made myself unclench them, slowly, one finger at a time, because the alternative was putting them through his face and I was — barely, barely — still deciding against that.

"You don't get to talk about her body like it's public property. Don't say her name in the same breath as whatever the fuck you were about to say. And past what it takes to remember she's a person, not something on a fucking menu —

Dobbs swallowed. "I didn't mean anything by it."

"Then learn to think before you fucking open your mouth."

I stepped closer. "You were talking about her like she was up for a vote. Something you clocked in a hallway and filed away to compare notes on later. Like walking past her once earned you a stake in what she looks like underneath a dress."

My jaw ached from how hard I was holding it. "That's the problem. You didn't have to mean anything — you just opened your mouth and let something ugly fall out."

I turned, eyeing each and every guy who'd participated in that conversation — Marsh, Cole, and the freshman whose name I hadn't bothered learning yet, all of them suddenly very interested in their own shoes.

"And that fucking goes for the rest of you too. Every single one of you standing here nodding along, laughing like it was funny —  I'd start thinking real fucking hard about whether whatever you said five minutes ago is something you want to repeat to my fucking face."

Nobody moved. Nobody spoke.
Hunter came and stood at my shoulder without a word, arms loose but his eyes hard, scanning the room like he was daring someone to test it. 

Slate pushed off his locker and took the other side, arms crossed, silent and immovable.
"She wasn't even here—"

"Exactly." The word came out colder. 

"So you figured you could say whatever the fuck you wanted. About her legs. About her tits. About what you'd do if she were yours."

My hands flexed once at my sides.
"She's not yours. She's not available for commentary. She's not a fucking punchline for your locker-room highlight reel. You've got something to say about her, you say it to me. Not to each other. Not behind her back. Not like she's a piece of meat you all get to rank."

Dobbs lifted his hands. "Reyes, chill—"

"Don't fucking tell me to chill."

The room had gone so quiet I could hear the shower pipes ticking somewhere behind us.

Dobbs swallowed again. "Look, man. I didn't mean anything by it."

"Then maybe think before you open your mouth next time. All of you." I let my eyes move across the room one more time, slow, making sure it landed on everyone who needed it to. "This isn't a warning I'm giving twice."

Silence.I could hear my own heartbeat. Fast. Hard. Fucking furious.

Who the fuck did they think they were, reducing Juniper to something to be looked at. Something to be rated. Something they got to talk about just because she wasn't standing there to hear them.

And apparently that was enough to make every protective instinct in me go fully, completely feral.

"Look..." Dobbs began.

Hunter finally spoke, his voice deliberately casual, breaking the tension just enough. 

"Probably a good fucking time to shut up, Dobbs."

Dobbs nodded fast. "Yeah. My bad."

A few murmured agreements followed from the others, none of them meeting my eyes.

I held Dobbs' stare a second longer. Then stepped back.

"Good."

I turned away, forcing my hands to unclench.

Because this wasn't supposed to happen.

Juniper was my fake girlfriend. That was the arrangement. A favor. A little flirting. A few public appearances. Nothing real. Nothing that was supposed to get under my skin.

So why the fuck did hearing a room full of guys talk about her make me want to rearrange all of their faces?

And why the hell had calling her my girl, even implied, even furious, felt so natural?

Hunter came up beside me. "You good?"

"Fine."

Slate glanced at me. "No, you're not."

I grabbed my towel. "I'm fine."

Hunter exchanged a look with Slate over my head. Neither of them believed me.
Neither did I.

Because somewhere between pretending to be Juniper's boyfriend and actually wanting to burn the whole locker room down for her, I'd crossed a line I hadn't even realized was there.

And judging by how badly I'd wanted to put every last one of them through a locker for talking about her like that —

I was starting to think the fake part of this relationship was becoming a very, very small part.