“Dani—”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“But I’m going to anyway.”
She sighed. “You already apologized.”
She was talking about the lengthy text message I had sent her yesterday afternoon. We had missed each other during morning workouts at the stadium, and I’d already been tucked into bed by the time she’d come home from Dungeons & Dragons, so we hadn’t had a chance to talk in person until now.
“You deserve more than a text, Dani-pants.” I flagged down the flight attendant and ordered us each a ginger ale. “I’m sorry for being an ass. I only said what I said because I care about you. That’s no excuse for raising my voice at you the other night, though. You just took me by surprise.”
“I know.” Her fingers dug into the armrest. “Believe me, that’s not how I wanted you to find out. To be fair, I didn’t plan on you finding out at all.”
“About you and—”
“Yes,” she snapped. “You don’t have to worry about that anymore. I ended things.”
“Because of what happened?”
She shook her head. “That was just the nail in the coffin. I know you probably don’t want to hear the details, but it was just a . . . casual thing between us. It never could have gone anywhere.”
I heard what she was saying loud and clear, but I also heard the hurt behind her words. I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe there was more to their fling than she was letting on.
“You know,” I said, lowering my voice. “If youdidwant it to go somewhere, I would be okay with that.”
She arched a brow. “Really?”
“Well, I would figure out how to be okay with it. For you.”
She nodded and turned back to face the front. “I appreciate that, but it won’t be necessary.”
The flight attendant handed us our drinks. Dani sipped hers slowly before blowing a breath out of her crimson-stained lips. Motion sickness or not, Dani never left the house without a full face of makeup.
“Here,” I said, setting my cup of ginger ale on the tray next to hers. “You need this more than I do.”
“Where are you going?”
“You’re not the only one I owe an apology to.”
Her cheeks paled, but she left it at that.
As I trudged down the aisle toward the front half of the plane, I smoothed a hand down my stomach, trying to quell the unease knotting my insides. Peter Pan would have been safer walking the plank. I felt more like one of his Lost Boys.
Like most of the guys, Coach Ward had chosen an aisle seat, opting for the extra legroom that it offered. The brim of his hat shadowed his eyes, so I cleared my throat to announce my approach.
“Coach.”
“Pink.” He tilted his head back, resting it against the seatback. “Can I help you?”
I gestured to the seat next to him. “Do you mind if I sit?”
“Yes.”
This is going well.
“I wanted to apologize—”
He held his hand up, effectively cutting off the rest of my rehearsed apology. “Save it. Is this going to affect our professional relationship?”
