Page 94 of The Risk Taker

We almost got caught this morning, and that should’ve scared me.

But all I can think about is doing it again.

24

LOGAN

In theory, a four-hour bus ride with twenty guys should be fun as hell.

It’s one of my favorite parts of playing hockey. The noise, the chirping, the sense that for a few hours, nothing outside this bus matters. It’s the closest thing I’ve had to family in a long time.

But it’s also cramped, smells vaguely like sweat, and Austin won’t shut up about pineapple on pizza.

“It’s elite,” he says, twisting around in his seat to face the rookie behind him. “The sweet, the salty.” He kisses his fingers. “Perfect combination.”

Miles—the rookie who never shuts up—gives Austin a disgusted look. “Why the hell would you want a sweet pizza?”

“Uhh… ever heard of sweet and sour sauce?” Austin throws back with a raised eyebrow.

Miles raises a brow. “Yeah, and I don’t put that on cheese either.”

Austin waves him off. “Whatever. It’s fruit. Fruit’s healthy.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how it works,” Miles says with a scoff.

Austin just grins. “Still counts. Vitamin C or some shit.”

Coach sighs from the front. “Every damn trip,” he mutters.

Usually, I think Coach is a grumpy motherfucker, but goddamn, it’s six in the fucking morning, and I’m running on three hours of sleep, half a bagel, and my eyelids are heavy as hell. I don’t understand how Austin has so much energy this early in the morning.

I try to head down the aisle, but Ryan blocks it with his long-ass legs, arguing with Isabella over who beat who on Mario Kart. I shove his foot out of the way and keep moving.

My eyes quickly glance to Cole, who’s sitting by the emergency exit, his hood up and eyes on his phone.

The rookie ahead of me clearly values his life because he doesn’t even glance at the seat next to him.

I let out a scoff.

Smart kid.

I keep moving down the aisle until I spot Nathan a few rows back, his head tipped toward the window, hoodie up, and headphones on like always.

For a second, I just stand there, watching him.

A few months ago, that seat beside him meant hours of awkward silence. Me cracking jokes he refused to laugh at. Him pretending I didn’t exist.

Now? It’s the only seat I want.

I toss my duffel into the overhead bin, then drop into the space beside him. “Move over.”

He startles, pulling his headphones down around his neck. “What are you doing?”

“Sitting,” I say, leaning back, my shoulder brushing his. “Bus is full.”

“It’s not,” he says flatly, glancing around at the half-empty rows.

“Yeah, but none of them have your charming company.” I grin, stretching my legs out until my knees press against the seatin front of us. “Besides, I like this view.” I gesture toward the window like I wasn’t staring athimfive seconds ago.