Something is shifting between us. I can feel it. Like tectonic plates moving, slow and inevitable and impossible to stop.
“Well, well, well.”
A voice breaks the spell.
Logan is standing a few feet away, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Look at you two. Being all cute and couple-y in the hallway.”
I pull my hand back quickly. Too quickly. Banks’s jaw tightens.
“Some of us are going to O’Malley’s,” Logan continues, oblivious to the moment he justshattered. “Drinks. Celebration. You know the drill.” He looks at Banks. “You’re coming, right? You never come, but now you have a girlfriend, so you have to come. It’s the rules.”
“There are no rules,” Banks says flatly.
“There are definitely rules. Ask anyone.” Logan turns to me. “You’ll make him come, right? Tell him it’ll be fun.”
I look at Banks. He’s already shaking his head slightly, preparing his excuse.
“One drink,” I say before I can stop myself. “Come on. It’ll be fun.” I reach out and take his hand—the one that isn’t bruised and wrapped in tape. “Your teammates want to celebrate. You helped them win. The least you can do is show up for one drink.”
“She’s got you there,” Logan says gleefully.
Banks looks at our joined hands, then at my face. Something softens in his expression.
“Okay,” he agrees.
Logan whoops and takes off down the hallway, probably to spread the news that we’re going to someplace called O’Malley’s.
Banks and I are left standing there, still holding hands.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he says quietly.
“Do what?”
“Wait for me. Touch my face. Convince me to go to a bar.”
“I know.” I squeeze his hand. “I wanted to.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at me with that unreadable expression, his split lip, bruised knuckles, and tired eyes.
Tori appears at my elbow, practically vibrating with excitement. “O’Malley’s? Did I hear O’Malley’s? Zay’s already getting the car.” She looks at our joined hands and grins. “Well, aren’t you two adorable.”
“Shut up,” I say.
“Never.” She links her arm through mine. “Come on. Let’s go get drinks with your fake boyfriend and watch him try not to squirm.”
Chapter Thirteen
Playing with Fire
Banks
O’Malley’s is packed.
It’s a Knights bar—has been for years—and after a win, half the city seems to cram inside. The noise hits me the second we walk through the door: music blaring, people shouting, glasses clinking. Everything I hate about bars, concentrated into one chaotic space.
I should’ve said no. I always say no. Post-game drinks aren’t my thing. I do my job, I go home, I eat leftovers in silence. That’s the routine. That’s what works.
But Winnie asked.
