Page 44 of Puck Me Back to Life

The words come out calm, firm, and immediate. Something flashes across his face before he falls silent, and the response sends a ridiculous amount of warmth through me. The truth is that Hayes listens. Not because he's weak. Not because he's passive. He simply listens when I speak, and every time he does, it feels like striking gold. He hasn't seriously refused me yet, and that fact occupies far more space in my head than it should.

I guide him toward the back of the bus. This is actually the first time we've sat together. Normally, he finds a seat by himself and spends the trip reading, tucked into a corner like he can disappear if he makes himself quiet enough.

Not today.

Today, he's beside me.

We settle into the last row. Hayes takes the window seat, and I sit beside him while the rest of the team climbs aboard around us. Someone complains about the smell of somebody else's breakfast sandwich. Dante starts arguing with Thomas about whether pancakes are superior to waffles. The driver closes the luggage compartment beneath the bus with a heavy metallic slam.

The second the bus starts moving, I turn toward Hayes. “What happened last night?”

His face immediately turns pink.

The sight almost makes me smile.

“I thought we were done.”

“I told you to stay.”

“Oh.”

I stare at him.

He looks away.

“I'm sorry,” he says quietly.

The apology is sincere enough that my irritation evaporates almost immediately, which is unfortunate because I had prepared an entire speech.

“If you ever pull that again,” I tell him, keeping my voice low enough that nobody else can hear, “you'll have hell to pay next time.”

His eyes widen. “Next time?”

The question is hopeful enough to make my chest tighten.

I shrug, mostly because I don't trust my face. “If you want there to be a next time.”

The blush deepens.

God help me.

The man is adorable.

Hayes turns toward the window as if the hotel parking lot were suddenly the most fascinating view in North America. I let him suffer for another minute before reaching into my backpack and dropping something into his lap.

Hayes looks down. His eyebrows pull together. “What is this?”

A familiar pullover sits folded across his knees.

For a second, he only stares at it. Then realization dawns. “Oh my God.”

I lean back in my seat. “You left it.”

He looks genuinely horrified. Heat crawls up his neck and disappears beneath the collar of that ridiculous jacket. “I was wondering where that went.”

“Apparently not very hard.”

Hayes groans, and I enjoy every second of it.