Page 40 of Catching Feelings

“It’s fine.” I turn away, ducking my head. My hair drips down my neck and chest, water sluicing off my T-shirt and cutoffs to pool in my sneakers. “I’m just gonna find a sweater or something.”

I ignore the burn of eyes following me as I scurry to the edge of the parking lot where my bag awaits. I guess I should be glad it was a clean bucket of water, but that doesn’t erase the fact that I’m totally drenched, the fabric sticking to me like a second skin. As if watching Tyler get flirted with wasn’t enough, he’s now seen me take an extremely gross and unplanned bucket shower.

The only way this fundraiser could get worse is a car actively running me over.

I rummage in my bag, and when my fingers scrape the bottom, I let out a groan from the depths of my soul. What was that about the fundraiser not getting any worse? Because the sweater I thought I had stashed is missing.

Of all the times to be negligent with my laundry routine. But maybe I have one of last year’s spirit T-shirts in my locker. I zip my bag closed, ignoring the watchful gaze of the football team—

And then a deep voice says, “Here.”

Goose bumps prickle up and down my arms, and they’re not from the cold. A shadow falls over me, and when I look up, Tyler is quite literally blocking the sun.

Holding out his letter jacket.

In this moment, he couldn’t look more heroic if he tried.

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“It’s the least I can do.” His gaze is serious. “Take it.”

His voice settles in the pit of my stomach, warming me from the inside out. His eyes are firmly fixed on my face, but I feel more exposed than ever.

I settle his jacket around my shoulders and do up a few buttons so I’m comfortably cocooned. It smells like him, all sun-warmed grass and lemon peels and eucalyptus, and it’s so big, the sleeves reach to my fingertips and the bottom falls past the edge of my shorts. I instantly feel safer.

I can’t hide my gratitude when I smile up at him. “Thanks.”

Only a tiny twitch at the edge of his mouth gives him away. “Now we’re even.”

It takes me a minute, but when I get it, I flush all over. Our first meeting in the locker room. The thought of him enjoying my accidental wet T-shirt contest as much as I’d enjoyed meeting the bare-chested new football player sends a spark all the way to my toes.

Oh, how I’d love to relive that moment—or even this one, with a few less spectators… because suddenly Ryan’s presence here feels less like a lucky gift and more like a curse. Because with the warmth of Tyler’s jacket heavy on my shoulders, all I want to do is step forward so his arms can wrap around me too.

He clears his throat. “Should we go back to help out?”

I startle back to my senses. “Oh! Yes, of course. Of course.”

But it’s only when he turns back to the car wash assembly line that I manage to lift my feet to follow him.

The rest of the event goes much more smoothly—other than Ryan joking about how he knew this was a wet T-shirt contest, which I studiously ignore. Luckily, he takes off for the Lakeside with the rest of the hockey players when the rush dies down, and I try not to read into Tyler’s insistence that he’ll stay to the bitter end.

Or into my own butterflies at the prospect of being around him without Ryan watching.

“This is exactly what we needed,” Kara says, rifling through dollar bills. “Though it’s not gonna get us all the way to our fundraising goals for the dance this year. We need to add something else to the calendar… but now that football season’s in full swing, it’s hard to find an empty weekend.” She frowns.

After a long pause, I realize she’s waiting for a response. “Oh, good. Great news.”

Kara’s frown deepens. Oops. It’s only then that the rest of her words penetrate my distraction.

“Good news about what we raised, I mean. Not so great about how much we still need. But we’ll find a way! We always do!”

She opens her mouth again—probably to bring that pragmatism I love to hate on—but another car rolls up, pulling her away.

Which lets me get back to my job too: stealing glances at Tyler.

He’s looking back at me every time, tiny sparks of electricity moving through his gaze. Maybe he doesn’t hate me after all. He wouldn’t give me his jacket if he hated me… would he?

Suddenly I’m craving the chance to talk to him one-on-one. To apologize for lying and avoiding him. To figure out where we stand now.