Page 67 of Puck Fest
I grin despite myself.
Wasn’t staring. Was admiring.
Same thing. And people notice.
Nobody noticed.
I noticed.
That’s different.
We need to be more careful.
I grip the phone, the urge to hurl it across the room grabbing hold.
Fuck this careful bullshit.
But I squeeze my eyes shut for a second and wait for the urge to settle. Then I type my response. Cool and collected.
I know. Doesn’t make it easier.So when can I see you?
I don’t know. Alex is still in town. We have to wait.
For how long?
I don’t know.
I grit my teeth, shove my phone in my bag, and finish changing. Around me, the guys are talking about our next road trip, where we’re getting food after practice, and other normal shit that doesn’t involve hiding a forbidden relationship from everyone they know.
“You good?” Tate asks, dropping onto the bench next to me.
“Yeah. Why?”
“You’ve been off the last few days. A little distracted.”
“Just tired.” I flash a half-grin. “It’s been a hell of a few weeks, you know.”
He nods. “You know you can talk to me if something’s going on, right?”
“Nothing’s going on.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t believe me. I can tell. But he doesn’t push. “We’re grabbing lunch at that place on Third if you want to come.”
“Nah. I’ve got some stuff to do.”
He looks at me like he wants to say something else butdoesn’t. When he leaves, I drop onto the bench with a deep sigh, finally alone in the locker room and staring at my phone.
This is going to drive me insane. Being so close to Noah and not being able to touch him. Seeing him every day and having to pretend he’s just my PR director. Acting like Saturday night didn’t change everything.
My phone buzzes again.
My place. Tonight. 8 PM. Park a block away.
Relief floods me. Thank fuck.
I’ll be there.
And Danny?
