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He gives me a half wave and a stiff smile, then picks up the bag he just dropped and takes it to his room without another word.
Gah. I look down at the confirmation window displayed on my screen and sigh.
Please, don’t let this be a mistake.
I’m gathering up my laptop to clear out of the communal space when?—
“Hey,” Ben says with a jut of his chin. Because he’s back.
His hands are stuffed in the pockets of his shorts, and his gray T-shirt is molded over the slopes of his hunched shoulders as he stands at the mouth of the hallway.
This is what second thoughts look like.
Sucking a shallow breath, I smile. “What’s up?”
The muscle in his square-cut jaw bunches, releases. Repeats. “How’s your family?”
* * *
Ben
There’s always someone at the arena. Security, the cleaning crew. Once I showed up at two a.m. to clear my head and found our travel coordinator surrounded by a dozen empty coffee cups because of a snafu with a coming road trip.
This morning it feels like a ghost town. I can hear the echo of voices from within the depths of the place, disembodied laughter here and there, but aside from the guard who waved me through without a word, the place is empty.
Perfect. That’s what I want.
Some quality alone time.
Just me and my thoughts.
Allll by myself.
I push into the weight room and just stand there, taking in the too-full racks, hauntingly empty benches, and neatly stacked mats with a scowl. This place is better with my team in it.
Fuck.
I’m debating whether I ought to turn my ass around and go home when?—
“Yo, Boomer.”
A massive mitt grips my shoulder, and I jump so high, I’m surprised I don’t end up with another batch of plaster in my hair.
“You comin’ or goin’?”
Clutching my chest like my mom watching Stranger Things, I gape at my teammate and last person I want to see. “Jesus, Static. You scared the piss out of me.”
Another reason to hate all over him.
“Glad you’re here actually.”
I lift a skeptical brow. “That right?”
“Figured now that Baby Boomer is getting serious with Bowie, might be time for you and me to clear the air, yeah?”
I grunt. Translation: No.
“Come on, man.” He steps in beside me. “You can’t hold her against me forever. Nothing even happened between us, and you’re still freezing me out. Meanwhile, you already forgave Bowie when he’s actually—” The guy makes a series of suggestive hand gestures. “Every night.”
