Page 8 of Game Face

Bryce’s chest shakes with silent laughter.

“Hey, naps are no joke,” he says, making room for me to pass.

The tension between us is suffocating, and I know I won’t be able to perform at my best if things keep up this way. But I still don’t trust him. We aren’t close. If I were in his position, I’d be looking for my in, even if it came at his expense.Especially if it came at his expense.Even more reason to step up and be a leader.

“Hey, about yesterday,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck as I avert my eyes. I draw in a deep breath before meeting his gaze. He’s chewing at the inside of his cheek.Good. He’s uncomfortable, too.

“I want you to know I appreciate your apology to Peyton. I know she appreciated it, too. And I heard what you said, about learning and growing. I’ll get over my petty bullshit soon, I promise. I’d like to be that guy for you, the one you think I am, I guess.” I’m not sure how many of my own words I believe, butthey seem to chip away at a little of the ice as Bryce’s shoulders relax and his posture eases.

“Hey, I appreciateyou.I know how hard it was to say what you just did. I have my own bullshit, so maybe we can get over it together. Or at least try. Yeah?” He holds out his hand, and for a second my mind drifts back to the night before. I smirk at his palm, then grip it.

“Here’s to trying,” I say.

Bryce breathes out a long laugh as we let go and trade places in the doorway.

“Oh, and tomorrow—let’s hit the gym at six, get in some miles?” I’m asking him for two reasons. First, to make up for the shitty way I ditched him today, but second, I’d really like to see how he fares on the treadmill. I’m childish enough to race.

“Sounds great. It’ll be good to get the legs loose before we take some snaps.”

For a quick second, our gazes lock, and I swear I see the old Bryce somewhere behind his eyes, the one baiting me and ready for the challenge. It’s our first full team practice on our home field tomorrow. And while he threw at camp last week, I still wasn’t fully cleared. Tomorrow is a statement practice.

“Looking forward to it,” I say, my brows lifting for a beat before I turn for the locker room to dress out and race to my place, where my girlfriend is waiting for me.

Not for Bryce.

For me.

Chapter Four

Tasha is mad at me, even more than she normally is after we fight. Of course, we usually disagree about going out on a weeknight or letting her borrow my favorite leather boots.

This time is different.

She’s more than mad. She’s hurt. And it feels a million times worse. I’d rather worry about her slashing my tires than not answering my texts or phone calls.

I finish sending the tenth message, promising to buy all her rounds when we bar hop next weekend. I’m staring at my words to her and the delivered notice—not even read—when Wyatt toes open his front door. His arms are loaded down with three cases of water, so I pull myself out of the comfort of his oversized beanbag and rush to help. As if he needs my muscles.

“Thanks. I’ve been driving around with these for a week,” he says, sliding two cases onto the counter then taking the third from me to stack on top.

I tug at the pocket of his hoodie and flatten my cheek against his chest as he turns into me. His arms wrap around me, and I take the first full breath I think I’ve had since Tasha stormed outof our apartment this morning and said, “Fine, I’ll let Whiskey move in. Anyone else you’d like me to offer room and board?”

“She’ll come around. She always does.” He presses a soft kiss on top of my head, and I snuggle into him harder.

“I know, but also, what if she doesn’t?” I tilt my head, pressing my chin into the center of his chest so I can look up at him. His eyes scan my face as he tucks the loose strands of hair behind my ear. My head hurts from the high ponytail I’ve been wearing since practice.

“At some point, Tasha is going to have to live with someone who isn’t you. I’m not planning on an open marriage that involves multiple wives. Although . . .”

Wyatt twists his lips and glances to the side, as if he’s intrigued. I wrap the strings of his hoodie around my fist and tug his attention back to my face, trying not to overreact to the fact that he just said the M word.

“I’m kidding,” he laughs out softly. His gaze sticks to me as he cradles my cheek with his right hand and strokes my skin with his thumb. I could stand here like this forever.

“I know Tasha needs to work on her independence. She knows it, too. But she’s never really had the support system that you and I have, and when she and I moved here together freshman year, it was like she finally had this solid family unit. Even when I’m gone with you, or traveling for a competition, she’s never totally alone. Hell, how many times is she our third wheel?”

Wyatt chuckles at my observation.

Tasha’s the daughter of a single mom who likes to work and live large, which usually meant she was jet-setting without her daughter. I’ve always thought that was at the root of most of my friend’s envelope pushing.

“I love how you love your friends,” Wyatt says, his touch slowly pulling the stress from my body.

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