Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Scottie
The drink Lucas sent this morning tells me a lot about how he’s feeling: dark roast, cream, and barely a hint of sugar.
Three hours later as I’m standing outside the van that’ll take me and the players to the youth clinic, the bitterness lingers on my tongue.
A quick peek inside shows that Lucas is sitting in the front row all by himself, hat in his lap, arms folded, noise-canceling headphones sealing him off from the world. He’s leaning against the window, eyes closed, probably asleep.
Darius, Arturo, and Diego are all sitting together in the middle row, and Coop is sitting by himself in the back.
When Logan gets on, I hear Coop call, “Logan, my man. Join me.”
Bless you, Cooper Kellogg.
With everyone on board, I check in with the driver and Gabriela, who’s in the front passenger seat.
Then I climb onto the bus and take the only row that makes sense—Lucas’s. I slide across the bench to sit next to him, but because there’s no one on my other side, I don’t get as close as I’d like.
Just close enough that if he stopped pretending to be asleep, our knees could touch.
He doesn’t stop pretending, though. Not when I clear my throat or drop my phone on the seat. Not when the driver turns on music.
“You must have slept terribly last night,” I mutter just loud enough for my own dark satisfaction.
“I did,” he mumbles.
I keep my face forward in case Logan’s looking at us, but my eyes snap to Lucas.
He hasn’t moved his head. He’s still folding his arms. His eyes are still firmly shut. He twists his body to take up more space on the bench, though, shifting like he’s getting comfortable.
And his knee bumps mine.
I inhale a full, careful breath.
The corner of Lucas’s mouth twitches up, like he got exactly what he wanted.
The van pulls away, and we all rock with the motion. I could let myself slide closer to Lucas, if I wanted, but Logan would notice.
Besides, I don’t need the pretense—Lucas’s knee is still pressed against mine. We’re touching.
Seeing Jake and me together yesterday didn’t scare him off.
The driver turns up the music just loud enough to compete with the engine. The school we’re going to is twenty minutes away, leaving me with far too much time to debate my next move.
Do I work for the next twenty minutes or sit here and memorize the exact pressure of his leg against mine?
This feels like such a waste of a ride—of a day. Jake isn’t here. And if Logan weren’t on board, Lucas and I would be able to talk all we want, because there’s nothing actually suspicious about a player and his player coordinator talking. Especially when he’s my primary assignment.
But freaking Logan …
Cooper can’t know what a relief it is to have Logan’s attention redirected, even for a minute. I need this point of contact. My feelings for Lucas are growing every day, and late-night texts and loaded glances aren’t cutting it anymore.
Neither is this.
One minute—that’s all I give myself to be present. To revel in this quiet, stolen, totally inadequate point of contact. To sense his nearness, feel the heat coming off him, and wish—
With a mental shake, I pull out my laptop and review the day for the hundredth time.
“You’re looking at the itinerary again? I guarantee you have it memorized,” Lucas says in a sleepy voice.
“Yes, I do, and you have a hard stop at 11:00, no matter how much trouble you and the kids are getting into.”
“I like you bossy.” Lucas’s voice is quiet, but somehow, it’s on my exact frequency, because I don’t have to strain to hear him.
“I like that you like that about me,” I whisper.
“You don’t have to worry about me, Quinn.” He inhales deeply, like he’s settling into sleep. “I’ll be wherever you want me.”
The words settle into the quiet space of the van like a vow, and for a second, the itinerary on my screen blurs into nothingness. I want to reach out. I want to anchor him to that promise. But Logan and Coop are two feet behind us, and any move I make is a target.
I don’t know if Lucas feels the shift in my pulse or if he just has a sixth sense, but without opening his eyes, his hand moves. He doesn’t reach for me; he reaches for the cord of his earbuds. With a slow, confident motion, he holds one out to me in the small gap between our legs.
It’s on his side of the chair, right at the line in the leather between us.
I hesitate for a single, suspended moment before my fingers find his. The static shock of the contact zips through me, but I take the earbud. To make the short wire reach, I have to angle my head toward his.
I slide the bud into my ear.
The chatter of the van and the roar of the Arizona highway quiet as a soft, melancholic acoustic track plays over the earbud. With only one earbud in, I feel like I’m half in the real world, half in ours.
Logan says something behind us, and although I should be nervous about him getting suspicious, I can’t seem to care. I can explain this away if I have to.
Right now, I don’t have to.
I close my eyes and match my breathing to the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of Lucas’s chest. For these last few miles, the world is loud, but we are quiet.
I don’t pull out my laptop. I don’t check my phone. I just stay.
He said he’d be wherever I wanted him, and right now, this is as good as it gets.
***
When we pull up to the school, I return the earbud to the seat while Lucas keeps pretending to sleep, and I help Gabriela get everyone situated inside. It isn’t until I’m smiling at Logan and Coop passing me on the way into the gym that I realize he never got off the van.
“Lucas?” I say, climbing up the steps and leaning close enough to see the faint shadow under his eyes and the stubble on his face I didn’t let myself notice earlier.
“Lucas?”
I shake his shoulders.
And then his arms come around me.
They slide around my waist and pull me forward, tipping me enough that I have to brace my hands against his chest.
My face presses against the warm skin of his neck, and I feel the uneven, heavy rise and fall of his breath.
He exhales like he’s been holding it in all morning, and his cheek settles against my head. One hand spreads across the small of my back, while the other pulls me closer, holding me as close as he can.
This is not some quick, stolen hug.
And it’s definitely not safe.
“I miss you,” he whispers into my hair.
“I miss you, too,” I say, and my voice is already breaking. “This isn’t enough.”
Not the van, not the texts, and not the constant almosts that have my heart in my throat every time he looks at me.
“Not even close,” I say, because I need him to understand the scale of how much more I want with him.
His fingers flex against my back.
“Tell me where the line is, Quinn.” His voice is low, rougher than I’ve heard it. “I’ll crawl to it. I’ll live on it. Just tell me where the line is.”
The plea in that almost undoes me, because I don’t know anymore.
Two days ago, I thought I knew—we had a clean, rational, perfectly safe line where we could make eyes at each other and grab any spare moments we found. With Logan watching, that was the most we could do, but it felt like we could manage it, at least.
But then he showed up at my door.
I pulled him into my room.
He spun me around in front of his teammates, and I let myself imagine what it would be like if Jake weren’t in the picture and we could do that every day.
And then Jake showed up early.
Before I can say something stupid like I don’t care about the line, footsteps crunch on gravel outside.
Lucas lets go immediately.
I push up, step back, and smooth my shirt, all while trying to calm the hurricane in my chest.
“Up and at ’em, sleepy head,” I say, bright and professional as the driver appears.
Lucas stretches like he just woke up, arms high over his head, shirt riding up just enough that I have to force my eyes away from his abs.
He flashes me that easy grin I took for granted last year, back when I didn’t trust it. I never imagined Lucas had the staying power to wait out my insecurity.
And now I’m afraid Jake’s presence is going to drive Lucas away more than my insecurity ever could.
“Time to go,” I say, turning to step down when Lucas’s hand catches mine. And squeezes. Heat floods up my arm, into my chest—to the one place I can’t keep guarded anymore. And when he lets go, the absence almost hurts.
I climb down, and Lucas hops down beside me, smiling casually for any onlookers, but his eyes—
His eyes are sharp and searching, like he’s trying to find a crack in my composure. “All right,” he says. “Where do you want me?”
It’s a question no one ever asks me. They usually tell me where they need me.
Where do I want Lucas?
With me.
The answer lives in my throat.
Instead, I nod toward the gym doors.
“Inside.”