And I have no idea what to make of that. I'm still trying to figure it out when we make it to the airport, and he finally speaks.
"What terminal?"
"Delta."
He nods, getting in line behind a behemoth of an SUV.
We're almost to the front of the line when I feel compelled to speak again. "Last night was a mistake," I mutter. "It won't happen again."
"Whatever you say, beautiful," he says, far too agreeable.
I narrow my eyes at him, but he's focused straight ahead…smiling. What the fuck?
I don't think I even want to know. I knew goalies were strange, but this one is a whole different breed.
As soon as he pulls to a stop at the curb, I practically launch myself out of the truck. Does that stop him from putting it in park and hopping out? Hell no.
Somehow, he's beside me in three seconds, grabbing my bag before I can haul it out of the back. He holds onto it for a long moment while I try to tug it out of his hands. Yet again, he's so close I smell him over the standard jet-fuel and exhaust scent of virtually every airport in existence.
"You dreamed about me last night, didn't you?"
"Give me my bag, Briggs," I growl between gritted teeth.
"I dreamed about you," he murmurs. "All fucking night, actually." Before I can even react to that, he yanks gently on the bag, sending me toppling into him. His lips land against my ear. "Best fucking dreams of my life, Tia."
I whimper, actually fucking whimper right there on the sidewalk.
His body vibrates with laughter before his lips brush my cheek. "Have a safe flight. I'll see you soon, beautiful."
My only saving grace is the fact that he's wrong. He won't see me soon. He'll be here in Chicago, and I'll be safely at home in Minneapolis. If I have my way, he won't see me ever again.
That thought doesn't sting at all.
Chapter Four
Briggs
"You're cranky," Ryan Clarke announces like he's making a royal proclamation, stepping up in front of me in the locker room. The rest of the team is spread out across the room in various states of undress, all gassed.
Practice was a bitch. No one has the energy to move, let alone shower. We definitely need it. The entire space smells like sweat and the faint tinge of ammonia. It's ripe.
I flick my gaze up at Ryan, one brow quirked. "So?"
"So, you're never cranky. We want to know what the fuck is up with you," he says, gesturing around the room at the rest of the team. They all carefully avoid my gaze, like they're trying not to get caught listening in.
Even Karsen, our captain, is studiously pretending to ignore us as he strips out of his gear.
"Jesus Christ," I mutter, shaking my head. "I'm not cranky."
"You called Cale a dick on the ice today," Ryan says. "And you shoved Trent. You never do shit like that. What the fuck is up with you?"
It's an excellent question. It's also one I'm not sure I know how to answer. In the two weeks since Harlan's wedding, I've felt…off. Tia is constantly on my mind, slowly driving me mad. It's pissing me off that she's in another state, out of my reach.
I've tried to convince myself to let it go and forget the whole thing, but I can't. Every damn time I think about pretending she doesn't exist, an image of her floats through my mind, and I'm obsessing all over again.
I want her here, where I can get to her. I want her thinking about me the same damn way I'm thinking about her. I wanther,dammit.
Instead, she's in Minneapolis, blissfully living her life. And I'm here, slowly losing my mind. I text her damn near every day, just to remind her that I still exist. It's usually the stupidest shit—like the weather, or some random, useless fact I've picked up. Anything to keep me in her mind.
