“Your grandma’s seen your dick?”
I tune them out.
Logan’s moving toward the bench, hair a sweaty mess, that smirk aimed in my direction like a heat-seeking missile.
I catch up to him, pretending like I’m just racking my stick. “Think you’ll actually make the bus on time, Brooks?”
“I’m never late, Captain.”
I hum, my gaze dipping to his mouth. What would it be like to kiss him in public?
The butterflies in my stomach start to stir, fluttering hard.But I don’t move. Just lean back against the railing as the rest of the team filters toward the locker room.
“Extra practice tonight?” I ask. I like our alone time on the ice. The fact that it’s gotten a little heated a few times has nothing to do with it.
He shrugs and takes a long drink from his water bottle. “Don’t want to tire you out for our game.”
Disappointment filters through me, and I try to squash it. It’s not like he’s rejecting me. He’s just… maybe busy or something.
I swallow, glancing out toward the rink. “Yeah, you’re right. You’re probably busy.”
God, why did I just sound like a disappointed chick?
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I push off the railing like I didn’t just have a minor emotional spiral and jerk my chin toward the exit. “See you on the bus, Brooks.”
Logan tosses his towel over his shoulder, still smiling, none the wiser. “Looking forward to it, Shaw.”
I nod—too fast, probably—and turn toward the tunnel, falling into step behind a few of the guys. My shoulders roll back as I try to shake it off. Be normal. Be fine.
He didn’t say no. It wasn’t a rejection. We’re not…anything. Not really. Just a secret relationship that we haven’t even labeled. We could just be fucking for all I know about relationships.
So why does it feel like something in my chest just went a little quiet?
I shove it down and push into the locker room, voice pitching light as I catch Peter complaining about how his legs feel after being on a bus for hours and share a joke with Blue about bunking in sketchy motels.
Normal. Easy.
Just a game tomorrow.
Just another day.
Just a guy I can’t stop thinking about who might not be thinking about me the same way.
No big deal. Right?
By the timeI’m back in my dorm, the sun’s already started its slow crawl behind the buildings outside. I hate that the sun sets at 5:30 in the evening at this time of year. It’s depressing. The room’s quiet except for the occasional muffled voice from the hall and the low hum of the fridge.
I toss my backpack on the floor and collapse onto my bed, one arm flung over my face.
God.
Why am I acting like this? Why can’t I shake this feeling?
One offhand comment and I’m spiraling like a teenage girl with a crush. Because that’s what this feels like, right? A crush. A ridiculous, all-consuming, body-tingling, brain-melting crush.
And it’s not like he did anything wrong. He didn’t say no. He didn’t blow me off. He just said he didn’t want to wear me out before a game. Logical. Responsible. Exactly the kind of thing I should’ve said.
