“Shh,” I whisper in Maggie’s ear, trying not to let how warm and soft she is in my arms distract me. However, that isn’t too difficult, considering she’s elbowing me and trying to kick her way free.
“Hey, it’s me.”
She says something, but it’s muffled.
I clarify, “I’m sorry if I startled you, but if anyone catches us out here, my career is over. I’m going to let you go, just please don’t scream.”
She nods rapidly, like she’ll do anything for me to let her go. It’s notoriously hard to get a read on someone via text, but when Maggie turns around, the way her eyes linger on me a moment longer than necessary suggests something grows between us.
Why wouldn’t there be?
She’s gorgeous. I’m not a beast.
Okay, maybe part beast.
But our senses of humor have a one hundred percent match.
Minus the water gun incident.
As far as I’m concerned, we’re compatible. But there are the Coach’s rules. And the whole friendship thing. Wouldn’t want to ruin that.
I release my hands and hold them aloft to show that I mean no harm. “I realized it was you and that you’d probably be startled, so I—sorry.”
She smooths her hair and casts me a glare. “You were right about that.”
“Is it weird that every time we meet, it results in some kind of calamity?”
“And how each time it’s your fault?” she retorts.
“Mine?”
She makes a pair of pistols with her hands and says, “Pew, pew, squirt, squirt.”
“Fair. But I didn’t mean to startle you this time.”
“Well, maybe it was a good thing we haven’t seen each other in a few years because it’s been less than twenty-four hours and we’ve had two calamities, as you said. Those probably aren’t good odds.”
The crackling within dies like water dumped over a fire. Something inside me sinks like the rare times the Bruisers lose a game or mess up a major play.
Gripping the back of my neck, I say, “I meant what I said about wanting to make you laugh, certainly not scream.”
Maggie guppies her mouth like she wants to say something, but whatever grows between us has changed the game. I know the playbook inside and out, but I’ve never been on the field with someone like her.
“Here’s your phone.” She holds it out.
I don’t take the device from her palm. “I’m hungry. Want to raid the kitchen with me?” If I took a selfie, there’d be mischief written all over my face.
“Hold up. You want to go to the kitchen? Isn’t that forbidden? I’d have thought, even in this distant, relatively unknown country, word would’ve gotten around that you’re banned from kitchens, universally.”
“I’m not sure it’s a global rule.” At least, not anymore. Still, the reminder of why that’s the case burns me up inside. That’s a poor choice of words, even if they weren’t spoken aloud. I dismiss those old, sticky thoughts.
“I’d advise against testing it.”
I wink in the near darkness. “I’m feeling lucky.”
“Even after being sent here?”
“So far it’s turned out alright.”
