Page 30 of Captain's Claim

We are two perfectly rational adults who just fused our faces together behind a festival stall, and neither of us has a single goddamn word to say about it.

This is fine.

Everything is fine.

I open my mouth, no clue what I’m about to say. A joke?A casual“Hey, about that kiss, wanna pretend it never happened”kind of thing?

Before I can decide, a loud shout breaks across the stream of people.

“Maddox! Maddox! We got a problem!”

I jerk my head up just in time to see Ryder and Logan charging toward us, both out of breath.

Blake tenses beside me, snapping out of whatever broody, post-make-out spiral he was having.

“The hell’s going on?” Blake demands.

Ryder grimaces. “Uh… kinda hard to explain.”

Logan crosses his arms. “Let’s just say the kids took somecreative libertieswith the snowball fight rules, and now there’s—” He gestures vaguely. “An uprising.”

I blink. “Anuprising?”

Ryder sighs, rubbing his temples. “Look, it’sfine, probably. Just… you might wanna handle it before the fire department gets involved.”

Blake curses under his breath, running a hand down his face like he already regrets whatever hell is waiting for him. "Those fucking kids, I tell you."

Then, finally,finally,he looks at me.

His gaze catches mine, unreadable, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know where to start.

My stomach flips.

His jaw tightens. Fingers flexing.

And then, like some kind of hockey-playing father figure, he pats me on the goddamn shoulder.

"Stay out of trouble."

My brain short-circuits. I swear to God my soul leaves my body as he turns his back and disappears into the crowd, storming alongside his teammates back towards the hockey rink.

Ummmm…what?!

What am I, one of his damn kids?!

Sure, let's kiss like the world is ending, like we're about to tear each other apart, like we're some kind of wild animals on heat, and then what?

A little shoulder pat and a dismissal?

Are you freaking kidding me, Maddox?!

I stomp past a row of twinkling festival stalls, fuming, my brain a tangled mess.

I should write an email. A strongly worded email.

One with bullet points. Maybe an entire PowerPoint deck about Blake's Maddox's dumb shoulder pat and why it's a crime against humanity.

I’m mid-internal rant when a strange, musty scent hits my nose. Is that… hay?

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