Page 185 of Power Play

The Spanish sentence waited on her phone.

Volveré en tres días y pienso follarte hasta que no puedas caminar.

She still didn’t know what it meant.

That was probably for the best until I was safely on the bus.

The elevator opened into the lobby, where the Frost were already gathering near the doors. Cade, Briggs, Rider, and Easton had apparently decided to enjoy the show because all four looked directly at Charm when we stepped out.

I ignored them.

Charm didn’t.

For one second, I felt her tense beside me.

Then her fingers found mine.

She held on.

I looked down at our hands and smiled.

For tonight, that was enough.

At the bus door, I turned toward her. “Drive safe.”

“I will.”

“Text me when you stop.”

“I will.”

“Eat something too.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Ryan.”

I kissed her forehead, then her mouth, and once more because I didn’t give a fuck who was watching.

When I stepped onto the bus, Charm stood on the sidewalk with her phone in one hand and a smile she was trying to hide.

I took my seat near the window and watched her unlock the screen. Her eyes moved across the Spanish before she looked up at the bus.

Even through the glass, I saw the exact second she decided she would translate it before leaving the parking lot.

I smiled and leaned back against the seat.

Three days.

For the first time all week, that didn’t feel very long.

11

Ryan

For the last three days since Chicago, Charm and I had talked about everything except the one thing that had almost ended whatever the fuck we were becoming.

She sent me pictures of coffee she claimed tasted terrible and drank anyway. I called her from hotel rooms after games and listened while she complained about Klein until her irritation turned into arguments about books she would’ve been too afraid to have opinions about three months ago. She texted during practice. I sent her pictures from the road. She fell asleep on FaceTime once with half her face buried beneath a blanket and her phone propped badly enough that I spent twenty minutes looking at the ceiling above her bed because I couldn’t bring myself to hang up.

We talked, laughed, and missed each other so fucking obviously that pretending otherwise would’ve been insulting. We still didn’t say anything about the night she pulled away from me because somebody might see us, or about me telling her I couldn’t be the guy she wanted in private and questioned in public.