Page 71 of Never Your Girl

As Charlie rushes back to his table, clutching the napkin like it’s a prized possession, my attention returns to Bridger. He’s staring down at the table, his fingers tracing the condensation on his water glass. For the first time, I realize there’s so much more to him than I allowed myself to believe.

I lean back in the booth before picking up the paper straw wrapper and folding it accordion style.

Bridger’s quiet, his gaze far away as he absently taps a finger against the edge of his glass. For a guy who’s usually so quick with a sarcastic comment, his silence feels heavy.

“If you’re not playing hockey next year,” I ask, breaking the stillness, “what are you going to do?”

With an exhale, he runs a hand through his short, dark hair. “My uncle owns a marketing firm in Chicago. He offered me a job last summer after I interned with him. I actually enjoyed the work, and being around family will be nice.”

“That makes sense,” I say softly. “You’re creative and pretty good at coming up with ideas.”

“Careful, Tate—two compliments in one night? People might start thinking you actually like me,” he says wryly.

I shrug. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

His lips quirk, but the humor doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s not my dream job, but I need to get the hell away from my father. And that’s one way to do it.”

The heaviness of his words sinks deep into my chest and reminds me of what I witnessed in the locker room. On impulse, I reach across the table and clasp his hand in mine. His gaze drops to where we’re now connected, and for a moment, I wonder if he’ll pull away.

It’s almost a surprise when he doesn’t.

The warmth of his fingers permeates mine, making me aware of the intimate gesture.

“What about you?” he asks, his voice quieter. “You’ve got another year left, right?”

I shake my head. “No, I’ll graduate after my summer courses are complete.”

His brows lift. “That’s impressive.”

“The heavy course load has been a killer, but I need to graduate and get a job.” The corner of my mouth lifts slightly. “A different job.”

He leans forward, closing some of the distance between us. “You don’t like working at the Envy Room?”

“It’s not that,” I say quickly. “I actually don’t mind it. The money’s good, and Randi’s a great boss. We’re like a family there. And I’ve never really had that.” My fingers tighten slightly around his. “It’s always been just me and my mom, so it’s kind of nice to have a group of people looking out for me.”

His chin dips once as his gaze remains fixed on me. “Yeah, I get that. It’s what the team has always felt like for me.” His brow furrows. “At least, it used to. Before all this bullshit with the messages started. Now, I don’t know who to trust. I look at some of the guys in the locker room and I can’t help but wonder if they’re behind it.”

The pain in his voice slices through the very heart of me. I chew my bottom lip before blurting, “Can I tell you something?”

His gaze sharpens, his attention fully locked on me. “Sure.”

I suck in a deep breath as my pulse picks up speed. “At first, seeing those messages made me happy.” When his brow arches, I rush on, the words tumbling out in a jumble. “It felt like karma, you know? But now I feel like shit for taking pleasure in your pain. Trust me, that’s not something I thought I’d ever say.”

For a second, he doesn’t respond, and I brace for whatever sharp, cutting remark he’ll make.

Instead, he snorts as a faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and he slides his hand out from beneath mine, only to cover it with his own. His palm is warm, and it grounds us in the moment.

“I don’t blame you. The way I dropped you was shitty and immature. I meant every word of my apology last night. I’m sorry for hurting you. If I could go back and make different decisions,” he continues, his voice low and steady, “I would.”

I blink, stunned into silence. My breath catches, his unexpected honesty throwing me for a loop. It’s one thing to apologize under the cover of darkness and quite another to do it while sitting across from me at the diner.

As we stare at each other, the air between us turns charged with something I can’t quite name. Or maybe I’m afraid to label it.

“I think I missed out on something really great.”

His words are so quiet I almost miss them.

A knot forms deep inside me, and I have to look away before he sees the emotion threatening to spill over. I wasn’t prepared for him to crack open the door to his feelings and let me peek inside. I’m unsure what to do with everything careening around within me.

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