She smiles but it makes me want to reach out and pull her to me. It’s got this sadness to it. It hurts me that she thinks she’s overstepping. That I don’t want her here.
“And, if I ever did something to make you feel like this was negatively impacting me, I’m sorry. You being here? It makes it better. How many people get to do something like this with their best friend?”
A little laugh breaks through her sad exterior, cracking it a bit. “Best friends. I love when you say that.”
“I mean it.”
It still feels like she isn’t getting it. My heart thumps in my chest and I’m thankful for the wind breezing through the leaves, falling from their branches—anything to mask the sound because I swear she could probably hear it.
I have to give her something.
“When they called me about the trade, do you know the first thing I thought of?” Her dark honey eyes are on me, and it’s like a rope is tightening around my chest, making it hard to catch my breath. “You. How we were going to be in the same place for the first time since college. Itwasn’t the money. The moving logistics. Sadness for leaving my current home. Missing the guys. It was how I was going to finally be closer to you.”
“Tyson—”
“So, when you say you think you’re stepping on my toes, or anything like that, you’re wrong. And I know you’re the one who typically needs to be right, but you’re not going to win this one.”
“Okay.” She agrees and it’s not what I expected. Her voice is soft like velvet. “You’re right. I’m wrong.”
My eyebrows push into my forehead. “Wow, I know that must’ve been hard.” I take a drink of my beer—the same one I’ve been nursing for an hour. The fire crackles between us, throwing light across her face. She’s close enough that her warmth competes with the flames.
It feels like a now or never moment. If there’s something I wanted to bring up, or say, here’s my chance. Every second I don’t say something, the air tightens—like the night itself is waiting. My hand trembles around the bottle, so I curl it into a fist against my knee.
“I want to ask you something but I’m afraid.”
Blair’s eyes lift to mine, dark lashes framing, and she presses her lips together. “Afraid of what?” She doesn’t lean back. She leans in—just a fraction—and that tiny movement nearly unravels me.
“The answer. Changing things.”
Her lips part, like she’s ready to speak, but no words come. She exhales instead—slow—like she’s trying to steady herself too. Her fingers stretch toward the bottle sitting between us, and for a heartbeat, the back of her hand grazes mine. A different kind of fire rips through me.
“The night at my place after your first game. You said something. I tried forgetting you said it but I can’t.” My knuckles strain white against my skin as I rub my hands together. My chest feels too small for the words pushing up my throat. “‘I always think you’re going to kiss me. But you never do.’”
She takes in a breath, holds it, and looks around before letting it out.
“I did say that. I remember saying it.”
Here goes nothing. Everything.
“What did you mean?”
“I didn’t mean to make things weird between us,” she whispers, her head falling into her hands and staying there like she’s afraid to meet my eyes and see what this is doing to me.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m walking to her. I reach for her arm and pull her up until we’re toe-to-toe, her breath hitting my chin.
“That isn’t what I asked. Whatdidyou mean?” I look down at her and the woman who usually barrels through life like she can’t be knocked down looks like she’s one wrong word from shattering. Same as me.
“I meant exactly what I said.” Her voice is matter of fact but the tiny tremor beneath it ruins her poker face. “I always think you’re going to kiss me. But you never do. Well, actually, I’d probably swap always for sometimes but it’s exactly what it sounds like.”
She lifts her chin, daring me to do something about it. Terrified I will. Terrified I won’t.Blair emphasizes the change of phrase with her hands and I catch them before she can tuck them away, my fingers wrapping around hers. The backs of them are cold from the October air. She doesn’t pull back.
She bites her lip and her body tilts that tiny, telling inch closer. “But you don’t have to answer it. Or respond. Or I don’t even know at this point. I know we’ve only ever been friends—”
I interrupt her, the words tripping out like I’ve held them too long. “Do you think about me kissing you?”
My gaze drops to her mouth—those crimson lips curved like they’re already winning a game I didn’t know we were playing, perfectly matching her devil horns and the complexity she brings with her.
My heart doesn’t just beat—it lunges.
