I lean against the side of the bus and take another sip of coffee. Bitter. Burnt. Typical 7-11 bullshit.
He didn’t come by last night. Not that I asked him to or that we had plans.
But…still.
I waited.
Sat in my room like an idiot with my phone on full volume and the door unlocked—like some sort of hopeless golden retriever waiting for his person to show up.
I would’ve even pretended I wasn’t waiting. But he didn’t message. And I didn’t either.
Because I’m trying not to betoo much. Not too clingy or too obvious. Not too in love with a guy who still won’t let anyone know what we are.
It’s fine. I’m fine.
Right?
The crunch of gravel pulls my focus, and there he is.
Todd Shaw. Captain of my everything. Ball cap pulled low, gear slung over his shoulder like he’s carrying the weight of the whole goddamn world.
My chest clenches stupidly just seeing him. But something’s…off.
His shoulders are a little tighter. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He gives a nod to Blue and says something low to Peter, but he doesn’t even glance my way.
Not once.
I school my face into something breezy and practiced. I know this version of me. The one who flirts too loud and plays it cool and acts like nothing ever touches him too deep. The one who survived high school by turning every crush into a punchline and every heartbreak into a dare.
It’s easier to wear that mask than risk everyone seeing the truth.
So I slap a grin on and shoot a wink at Eli when he climbs the bus steps, and I follow him on. “You saving me a seat, goalie?”
Eli snorts. “You’re way too chipper for six-thirty in the morning, even for me.”
“Love a good road trip,” I lie as I sink down into the seat next to him.
Todd shuffles down the aisle, close enough I couldreach out and touch him—but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even look my way.
My stomach knots.
I turn back toward the others, tossing out a too-loud joke about Daniel’s glittery neck pillow and pretending I don’t notice the way Todd takes a seat near the middle of the bus, earbuds already in.
He’s not mad.
I don’t think.
But something changed between waking up in bed together yesterday morning and right now.
Maybe he’s getting bored of sneaking around. Maybe he’s tired of pretending. Maybe he’s done with me.
Which is fair. But it fucking guts me anyway. Because I’m not bored. I’m not tired.
I’m head over heels for him, and if I say it out loud, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep pretending I’m not in front of others.
I stretch my legs out, trying to get comfortable before the seven-hour ride as the bus pulls out of the parking lot.
Eli eyes me over the lid of his drink. “You look like someone pissed in your oatmeal.”
