Page 23 of Bound

“Love you, honey bunny.”

Smiling, I roll my eyes, and we exchange goodbyes as I pull into a parking spot, idling there until we hang up. And then my engine’s off and I’m heading into the rink, brows yanking together when I see Smitty and Claire in deep conservation in the hall that leads to the public-facing dressing room.

The bulk of the staff isn’t allowed in the actual locker room—where we shower and change. This arrangement gives us privacy, while PG-13 space is available for press and coaching staff and our equipment guys to have access to us.

And Claire.

Who’s standing very close to Smitty.

Who’s fucking married.

I start forward, strain to hear her words.

“I don’t know if I can do that, Smitty. I—” She sighs. “I’m not good with that kind of thing and?—”

“Sometimes you have to trust the process,” he says, quietly for him but still easily discernible where I struggled to hear her.“Baby steps until you get comfortable. Eventually, you’ll be at the finish line and will be able to look back and see that you did it.”

That’s good advice.

But if I was on the receiving end, I’d have the same reaction that Claire does.

Which is muttering begrudgingly, “Look back and see I struggled through something that’s ridiculously easy for other people?”

“What’s that saying?” Smitty asks. “Comparison is the thief of joy?”

Her nose wrinkles, and fuck that’s cute. So cute I want to close the distance between us and bend down and kiss the bridge, want to?—

Her eyes slide to the side, and I know the exact moment that she spots me.

Her shoulders tense up, her expression blanks out, and?—

It’s like when I sat next to her at CeCe’s the other day.

She’s only a few feet away—or in that case, mere inches—but she may as well be standing on the opposite side of a concrete wall, she’s so untouchable. Something I need to remember. Something I fuckinghaveto remember.

“Excuse me,” I mutter gruffly, shoving by Smitty.

“Hot to trot?” he grumbles, rubbing the shoulder I bumped into.

“One of us has to be.”

He just rolls his eyes and turns back to Claire. “I should get dressed,” I hear him say. “But I’ll talk to Kailey and see if she has any other ideas, yeah? But in the meantime, just try what I suggested?”

I’m turning to enter the locker room, that’s the only reason I glance down the hall—my head’s halfway there as it is. Or maybe…it’s that I can’t stop it, same as I can’t stop the sliverof jealousy from sliding through me, the urge to rush toward Smitty and shove him until he’s away from Claire, until he’s not touching her, not close enough to scent her, not close enough to?—

Claire nods and smiles up at him, then he opens his arms and she leans in, hugs him tightly.

The bolt of pain shooting through my jaw snaps me back to focus.

Enough.

Just…fuckingenough.

I force my teeth apart, relieve the strain on my jaw, and tear my gaze away. There’s fucking nothing to be jealous of. Smitty’s just clearly being his normal meddling, annoying self, and?—

I’m not jealous.

I’m fuckingnot.

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