Page 45 of Catching Feelings

As soon as the attention shifts off me, I excuse myself and weave through the room to her side. Try and fail to calm my thudding heartbeat as her eyes track my approach, as her head tilts up toward me the closer I get, as her lips part ever so slightly.

As Gabe crashes in from the other direction, eyes flicking between the two of us, and I have to swerve toward the basement instead. But I allow myself an “accidental” hand on the soft inner skin of her arm. As if I’m just steadying her as I pass. I have to close my eyes against the urge to hang on—to pull her closer.

When I glance over my shoulder as I walk away, Sabrina’s eyes are still on me. Burning like the center of a flame.

I do my best to focus on a game of foosball in Ryan’s basement, but I’m so distracted I lose immediately. All I can see is Sabrina’s face in my mind’s eye, and I drift back up to the kitchen where she’s describing her vision for homecoming. But before I can join her circle, Ryan appears to remind everyone there are plenty of couches to crash on if people aren’t safe to drive home. I hide my disappointed sigh and pass behind her as if I was just heading to the island for a refill on chips. But I let myself trail my hand across the small of her back—courteously, to make sure she doesn’t accidentally step backward into me—and the jolt that passes through my fingertips electrifies me for the next hour.

Gabe snags me as I pass his armchair in the corner, where the noise is a little muted. “Hey, thanks for talking me down before the game.” He shakes his head. “I was really spinning out.”

I put thoughts of Sabrina out of my mind and refocus on my teammate. “It’s nothing. You always get better when you’re in motion at practice or whatever. I knew you’d lock in.”

Gabe’s face relaxes, and he finally looks like himself again. “Yeah. Movement really does help. It used to be the only thing that did, you know? It’s probably why I got so good at football so young.” He smiles in a self-deprecating way. “But then I had this obsessive phase in sixth grade and my parents got me seeing a psychiatrist who prescribed some antianxiety meds, and usually the combo keeps things chill.”

He frowns, and I can’t help myself. “But this year…?”

Gabe cups his hands around his sparkling water and ducks his head. “There’s just a lot more pressure, you know? Dad has always wanted me to play in college, and sure, I’d love that. But the idea that every game this year is an exhibition of my skills is really scary. I keep thinking I’ll let everyone down, and I get lost in my own head, and sometimes it’s hard to pull myself out.”

“Until you start playing,” I say lightly. “We’re lucky to have you, man. You couldn’t let us down if you tried.”

The way his face lights up makes me rethink my resolution to not get too enmeshed with the team here. Being useful again feels good. Helping the team be its best was always my favorite thing.

“Thanks, Tyler. You’re a good add this year.” He thumps me on the back affectionately, then leans forward and lowers his voice. “So, I owe you. Can I do anything for you tonight? Create a distraction so you can slip away with Sabrina?”

I rear upright, eyes wide. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bro.” Gabe levels me with a scathing look. “You’re not a very good actor. You can’t keep your eyes off each other.”

I glance around frantically. “You think Will’s noticed?”

Gabe grins. “Nah. He’s too busy giving Miles a pep talk about that botched pass.”

I follow his gaze to the corner where Will does indeed have Miles practically pinned against a wall, gesticulating wildly as if he’s drawing diagrams of plays in the air. Kara looks on indulgently, occasionally piping up with her own notes. I have an inkling Miles will start feeling better soon, whether it’s genuine or just from being worn down by the two of them. “I’m just lucky he has another target for his no-drama campaign,” I say.

“Not that he has anything to worry about with you.” Gabe’s voice is easy. As if he really believes it. “You’re the chillest guy on the team. Don’t think we don’t notice how you’re always running extra drills and volunteering to throw passes. You were a damn good recruit.”

I can’t help smiling back. “Thanks, man. That means a lot.”

Means the world.

“So, Sabrina…?” He raises an eyebrow, and I fight my urge to blush.

“I got it under control.”

“I bet you do.” He claps me on the shoulder once more, then shoos me away. “All right, go get your girl. Or stare at her longingly from across the room, or whatever it is you’re doing tonight. I won’t tell.”

I roll my eyes, but he’s not wrong. I can’t take my eyes off her. Her hair is half up, half down tonight, a blue ribbon holding the updo part in place. She’s sparkling in every way—laughing and entertaining a circle of people with a story about trying to save a stranded bird in South Carolina, glitter on her cheekbones catching the light. Her eyes dart over to me occasionally, and every time I get caught in those dark blue pools, I entirely lose the drift of the conversation. I don’t think I’m imagining the way her cheeks flush. Like maybe she’s just as affected as I am.

I stand abruptly. “I’ll be right back,” I say. Gabe whoops quietly, but I don’t even care. I need a break. It’s more torturous than I bargained for, having Sabrina right in front of me but barely being able to talk to her, let alone touch her.

I weave through the crowd, dodging offers of more drinks and all the people reaching out to thump my shoulders in congratulations. Eventually, I make it to the downstairs bathroom, which is mercifully empty.

As soon as I shut the door behind myself, I lean against it and let out a long, slow exhale. Peace. Quiet. A chance to figure out how I’m going to survive the next however many hours with Sabrina in my house while Ryan plays the invisible third wheel in every interaction. Guilt and desire tango in a dizzying, confusing dance.

I splash water from the sink on my face in a desperate attempt to emotionally sober up. When I bury my face in a hand towel to dry it off, I hear the soft click of the bathroom door opening behind me. Shit. I didn’t lock it?

“Occupied—” I start to say, lowering the towel and turning toward the door.

But there’s a slender blonde standing there, baby-blue sweater making her eyes seem even more navy than usual. They’re very big right now. And very focused on me.