Page 20 of Triple Play

Yeah, well, my dream died when I was eighteen. I bite that back. Blake shouldn’t see that side of me: not the dancer who worried about making it from one month to the next. Who used to writhe in Felix’s lap for money. Who kissed Felix.

My teeth tighten on my lip at the memory of that kiss. “I guess I could get back to dancing at some point.” There, nice and vague.

“I bet you’d be great on stage.” This from Felix, who grins when I glare at him in the rearview.

Blake frowns again minutely, like he’s picking up on Felix being weird. Or not weird. Flirting. Fuck.

“If I end up doing any community recitals, I’ll be sure to tell Blake to invite the team.” Maybe it’s mean to remind Felix he probably won’t be on the Monsters this year, but at least that teasing smile fades.

Blake leans across the center console to plant a kiss on my cheek. “If that happens, let me know what kind of flowers I should bring you.”

Calla lilies. Irises. Bound up in a purple ribbon. “Oh, anything’s good, really. I don’t have strong opinions.”

That gets me another kiss, Blake’s gentle laugh, and a noise suspiciously like Felix snorting in disbelief. I’m about to wheel around to ask him—nicely—to shut the fuck up when the driver in front of us really does slam their brakes.

Before us, a line of traffic winds its way up and over the next rise. I slow down and join the crawl. We’re gonna be here a while.

For the first few hours, Blake and Felix split their time between reading a giant book about Rome (Felix), trying to make conversation (Blake), and asking if I’m sure I don’t want him to take over driving (also Blake).

Eventually, I squeeze my eyes shut in frustration—briefly, because traffic has been a nightmare—and say, “So how’re the Monsters’ chances this season?”

“Not great,” Felix says, at the same time Blake says, “Pretty good!”

Felix snorts. “You don’t need to lie to her.”

Blake huffs. “It’s not lying. It’s optimism.”

“What’s the difference?” Felix shoots back.

“Why’d you sign here if the team isn’t good?” I blurt.

“Well”—Blake adopts a tone like he might with the media—“every team has its strengths and weaknesses.”

A non-fucking-answer. Felix must hear it too, because for a second, the only noise is him shifting around in the back. And a low, Why’d you sign here at all?

“What was that?” Blake asks, as if he heard him perfectly.

“Nothing.” Felix shifts again. Lilac’s springs whine a concurrence. “Boston’s a passionate sports town.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Everyone’s very direct and honest with their feedback.”

“Heard that too.”

“You sure you’re ready for that?” Felix asks.

That catches Blake off guard. “Guess we’ll see.” Then he reaches across the center console and squeezes my knee. “But there are some pretty clear upsides already.”

And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that Felix flopping across the stretch of Lilac’s backseat had an especially argumentative tone. Along with a faintly muttered, Guess we’ll see, before he goes back to his book.

After six hours of hard driving, we roll our way through the Philly suburbs toward our two-bedroom rental house, one of the few places with available beds. Once flights were canceled, the entire East Coast all had the same idea: drive. Every hotel room between here and Richmond got booked up.

When I turn off the highway, road conditions immediately worsen. Snow coats the untreated asphalt. I tap Lilac’s brakes to avoid skidding—they’re anti-lock, but I don’t really want to test that.

“You okay?” Blake’s hand is back on the door handle.

“I should be.” Even as fear contracts my belly.

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