Chapter 10
Ten
Tyson
Holy shit. Blair holding her own? Being the only woman in the room?
Sign me up. Zack asked if we should include spouses or partners, so Blair would have other women to meet, and I told him it wasn’t necessary.
She loves contributing to a team and tonight was a perfect way to spend more time with the guys.
Looks like I was right, and it’s been a blast watching them get to know her—seeing her come out of her shell. Even with Oscar’s antics, that smart ass knew her name, there’s no way he couldn’t. But Blair coming out swinging with the jersey sales? Fuck, that was good.
I’ve heard enough about Oscar to know he’s someone I’d never consider hiring. I’m fairly certain I heard talk in the locker room about Benny moving on at the end of the season which would be quite the statement given he won’t play the rest of the year.
Can’t believe he showed up like he’s one of us. Clearly, he’s not.
Oscar made some lame excuse to leave shortly after Blair put him in his place and Benny made sure to apologize for his behavior, even though it’s not his to own.
The group has naturally split up, with some guys going to the pool table, others grabbing a controller to play video games. Zack’s place is perfect for something like this because there’s space, activities, and places for people to fall into.
Blair gazes out the floor to ceiling windows, the skyline sparkling on the other side of the glass.
“Want to go out on the balcony?” I almost expect her to say no since it feels like she’s been avoiding me for days.
She nods, holding onto her fresh cocktail with two hands. Her hair swishes when she walks, almost touching her shoulders, but not quite. I hold the door open and nod to the corner, where I know there’s a small outdoor fire table.
I almost drop to my knees when we see all the chairs empty—no one besides the two of us. Instead, I let Blair pick a spot and then drape a blanket over her lap.
A long breath slips from her mouth. “I hope no one’s mad about that whole thing with Oscar. I didn’t need to say the thing about the jerseys—” Her eyes catch mine and they’re glowing in the firelight.
“Are you kidding? They loved it!” I lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees as I look at her through the flames on the table. “And yes you did. He was being a dick. If you didn’t say it, someone else would’ve.”
“Maybe you. Not sure if anyone else would care.” She takes a slow drink of the bubbly cocktail, eyes looking up at the stars.
There it is. Or part of it.
Nodding, I say, “They would’ve. Believe me. You think these guys don’t know you saved our ass? That we’re not lucky to have you? They do. Honestly, everyone’s jealous of Zack because he gets to spend the most time with you and he loves to brag about how funny you are. How you’re friends.”
Her shoulders soften with each word. “Ugh. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m being like this. All needy and annoying.”
“You’re not that needy.” I try to joke, to get her to loosen up. “Is that why you’ve been sort of radio silent?” I turn her insecurity into needing clarity for my own.
Her head tilts and I’m afraid for what’s going to come next. How she’s embarrassed she said anything about kissing me. How she could never see me that way.
“This is your job. Your dream. And it feels like I’m being thrown in and—” Her words are quick, almost falling from her lips like she’s running out of time. “I don’t want to ruin this for you or make it difficult or let anyone down—”
“Blair. Breathe.” I don’t continue until I see her chest rise and fall, slow and intentional.
“First things first, you can’t consider everyone.
There’s not a way to make them all happy.
Quite literally impossible. All I can tell you is that the team loves having you, everyone I’ve talked to, at least.”
She smiles but it makes me want to reach out and pull her to me. It’s got this sadness to it. It hurts me that she thinks she’s overstepping. That I don’t want her here.
“And, if I ever did something to make you feel like this was negatively impacting me, I’m sorry. You being here? It makes it better. How many people get to do something like this with their best friend?”
A little laugh breaks through her sad exterior, cracking it a bit. “Best friends. I love when you say that.”
“I mean it.”
It still feels like she isn’t getting it. My heart thumps in my chest and I’m thankful for the wind breezing through the leaves, falling from their branches—anything to mask the sound because I swear she could probably hear it.
I have to give her something.
“When they called me about the trade, do you know the first thing I thought of?” Her dark honey eyes are on me, and it’s like a rope is tightening around my chest, making it hard to catch my breath.
“You. How we were going to be in the same place for the first time since college. It wasn’t the money.
The moving logistics. Sadness for leaving my current home.
Missing the guys. It was how I was going to finally be closer to you. ”
“Tyson—”
“So, when you say you think you’re stepping on my toes, or anything like that, you’re wrong. And I know you’re the one who typically needs to be right, but you’re not going to win this one.”
“Okay.” She agrees and it’s not what I expected. Her voice is soft like velvet. “You’re right. I’m wrong.”
My eyebrows push into my forehead. “Wow, I know that must’ve been hard.” I take a drink of my beer—the same one I’ve been nursing for an hour. The fire crackles between us, throwing light across her face. She’s close enough that her warmth competes with the flames.
It feels like a now or never moment. If there’s something I wanted to bring up, or say, here’s my chance. Every second I don’t say something, the air tightens—like the night itself is waiting. My hand trembles around the bottle, so I curl it into a fist against my knee.
“I want to ask you something but I’m afraid.”
Blair’s eyes lift to mine, dark lashes framing, and she presses her lips together. “Afraid of what?” She doesn’t lean back. She leans in—just a fraction—and that tiny movement nearly unravels me.
“The answer. Changing things.”
Her lips part, like she’s ready to speak, but no words come. She exhales instead—slow—like she’s trying to steady herself too. Her fingers stretch toward the bottle sitting between us, and for a heartbeat, the back of her hand grazes mine. A different kind of fire rips through me.
“The night at my place after your first game. You said something. I tried forgetting you said it but I can’t.
” My knuckles strain white against my skin as I rub my hands together.
My chest feels too small for the words pushing up my throat.
“‘I always think you’re going to kiss me. But you never do.’”
She takes in a breath, holds it, and looks around before letting it out.
“I did say that. I remember saying it.”
Here goes nothing. Everything.
“What did you mean?”
“I didn’t mean to make things weird between us,” she whispers, her head falling into her hands and staying there like she’s afraid to meet my eyes and see what this is doing to me.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m walking to her. I reach for her arm and pull her up until we’re toe-to-toe, her breath hitting my chin.
“That isn’t what I asked. What did you mean?” I look down at her and the woman who usually barrels through life like she can’t be knocked down looks like she’s one wrong word from shattering. Same as me.
“I meant exactly what I said.” Her voice is matter of fact but the tiny tremor beneath it ruins her poker face. “I always think you’re going to kiss me. But you never do. Well, actually, I’d probably swap always for sometimes but it’s exactly what it sounds like.”
She lifts her chin, daring me to do something about it. Terrified I will. Terrified I won’t.Blair emphasizes the change of phrase with her hands and I catch them before she can tuck them away, my fingers wrapping around hers. The backs of them are cold from the October air. She doesn’t pull back.
She bites her lip and her body tilts that tiny, telling inch closer. “But you don’t have to answer it. Or respond. Or I don’t even know at this point. I know we’ve only ever been friends—”
I interrupt her, the words tripping out like I’ve held them too long. “Do you think about me kissing you?”
My gaze drops to her mouth—those crimson lips curved like they’re already winning a game I didn’t know we were playing, perfectly matching her devil horns and the complexity she brings with her.
My heart doesn’t just beat—it lunges.
Time slows and it’s like seconds drift into minutes until she nods. It’s so small, if you weren’t looking for it, you’d definitely miss it. But I’m looking. I’ve always been looking. She looks over the balcony edge, and her side silhouette could bring me to my knees.
I free one of my hands and use a finger to gently put it under her chin, pulling her focus back to me, tipping her face up to mine.
“Do you want me to kiss you?”
Only inches separate us. I swear I can feel the beat of her racing heart, or maybe it’s mine.
She’s looking at me like there’s something she has to discover, lifting corners and checking behind things.
Hunting for the truth that maybe we’ve both been dodging.
She must find what she’s looking for because a smirk pulls at one corner of her lips, and she’s pressing into me.
Fuck. She’s going to kiss me.
Blair’s lips are a moment away, a place I’ve wanted to go since I met her.
“Hey,” Someone rounds the corner. At the sound of the voice, the feel of the steps, we both step away from each other. “Zack said I had to bring one of these out.” A teammate holds up an espresso martini. “He said he got new coffee beans for Blair to try.”
The universe is conspiring against me.
Her hand easily slips from mine like she’s afraid to leave evidence behind.
“Thanks,” she says, accepting the drink with a smile that is nowhere close to what she was just giving me. Her cheeks are flushed—guilty or frustrated or both. Mine too.
The guy doesn’t notice a thing. He leaves. The air stays thick.
Blair ducks her head, breathing out a shaky laugh. “Of course.”
I can’t take my eyes off her mouth—the almost of it all.
“We should…go back in,” she says, but her voice wavers like she’s not sure she means it.
I nod, because if I speak, it’ll be her name and a plea.
We step inside. Music swallows us. People pull her away. She glances over her shoulder, and the look says: Later. Please let there be a later.
I’m left standing there, heart still leaning toward her like we never stepped apart —knowing one more second alone and I would’ve finally tasted her.