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“No, I really don’t. Because you made it pretty clear last summer that I was just… What did you call it? Cute?” The word came out bitter. “You shot me down. So explain to me why you suddenly care who talks to me.”
“That’s not… I didn’t mean it like that.” I couldn’t look at her. If I did, I’d tell her everything, and that would mess everything up. Anything between us could cost me the only real friendship I had on this team. “Forget it.”
“No.” She moved closer, her voice dropping. “You don’t get to act like I matter and then take it back when it gets hard.”
“I’m not taking anything back.”
“Then tell me why.”
The silence stretched. I could hear her breathing. Could smell that floral soap she used.
“Because it should be me,” I said. The words came out rough. “Asking you to dinner. Making you laugh. It should be me, and it can’t be, and watching everyone else get to try is—”
I stopped. I’d already said too much.
Her face had gone pale. “Why can’t it be you?”
“You know why.”
“I really don’t.”
I couldn’t say it. Couldn’t tell her that Crim was the reason, because that would make her the problem, and she wasn’t. I was.
“Let it go,” I said. “Just forget I said anything.”
“I felt humiliated.”
The word landed like a crosscheck to the chest. I watched her hands shake before she shoved them into her pockets. She’d been carrying that for months. I’d put it there and walked away thinking I’d done the right thing.
“You looked at me like I was a joke, Brashe. Like I was stupid for thinking someone like you might actually be interested in a woman like me.”
And there it was, the wound I didn’t know I’d left.
“Ellie, that’s not what I meant at all.”
“From where I was standing, it felt pretty clear.”
“I meant I couldn’t have you. Not that I didn’t want you. I couldn’t risk it.”
She stared at me like I’d just told her that ice was made of marshmallows. Her breath came fast and shallow.
“Get on the table,” she said.
“Ellie—”
“Now.”
I lay back, and she positioned herself beside me.
Her hands found every sore spot like she had a map that showed her where she could hurt me. She pressed down on the adductor, and I flinched.
“This feels worse,” she said, her hands still on my thigh. “What did you do?”
I ground my teeth together. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Don’t lie to me. This isn’t the same muscle I treated eight hours ago.”
She was right. I’d felt it give, that sharp pull that said I’d crossed a line I shouldn’t have.
