"You're avoiding me,” he repeats.
"I'm working." I slam the cloth down on the table and turnaround. "What do you want?"
He looks at me. Arms crossed. Serious look on his face. "I want to know what's going on with you."
"Nothing is going on with me. Callahan, just back off."
"I'm just asking if you're—"
"I said back off." I step toward him. "You want to know what's going on? Nothing. What happened was nothing. We move on. End of conversation."
"Nothing," he repeats.
"Yes."
"Right." He nods slowly. "Okay."
"Good."
"The morning sessions?"
"Done."
"The—"
"All of it. Done." I pick the cloth back up. "No more being alone, just hockey with the team. That's it."
"You know you don't have to do this," he says.
"Do what?"
"This." He gestures at me. At all of it. "Blow everything up. Act like nothing happened. I'm not going to—"
"Nothing happened."
"Would you stop—"
"Nothing happened." I turn on him and step directly into his space. "Say it back to me and repeat it, because you’re not understanding. Nothing happened." I repeat the last sentence slowly, dragging the words out.
He doesn't respond, just stands there, glaring at me.
"Say it."
"No." His jaw is tight, but his eyes are pleading with me. "Because something happened and you know it and I'm not going to stand here and—"
"Then fucking leave." I step closer. We're chest to chest now. Neither of us moving. Both breathing hard. "I don't know what you think happened, but you're wrong. You're reading into something that isn't there."
"I'm not reading into anything." He doesn't back up not even an inch. "You kissed me back."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Bullshit."
"Watch yourself."
"You kissed me back, Nash." His voice is harder now. "Stop lying to my face."
"Get out of my face."
