Page 72 of Never Your Girl

Before I can figure out how to respond to Bridger’s quiet confession, the waitress appears at the edge of the table, balancing two plates stacked with food.

“Here we go!” she chirps, setting the dishes down with practiced efficiency. “Two bacon cheeseburgers with the works, extra onion rings, and root beer floats to keep those sweet teeth happy.”

That’s all it takes for the tension between us to snap like a rubber band. I sit back, grateful for the interruption, as the waitress tops off our waters and leaves us alone with a wink.

“Perfect timing,” Bridger mutters, his lips lifting into something that resembles a smirk, though I can tell he’s still unsettled.

“Yeah,” I reply, picking up an onion ring and dipping it into the tangy sauce on the side. “Can’t let these babies get cold.”

He raises a brow, clearly amused by my attempt to steer the conversation into safer terrain. “Let me guess, onion rings are your weakness?”

I shrug, taking a bite and savoring the crunch. “I prefer to think of them as my love language.”

When he laughs, it’s a low, genuine sound that sends a flutter through my chest. “So, other than threatening bodily harm, onion rings are your love language? Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind for when I’m trying to get on your good side.”

“Don’t bother, Sanderson. I don’t have one.”

We settle into a comfortable rhythm, the seriousness of our earlier conversation fading as we dig into our food. Bridger talks about the playoffs, describing the team’s strategies and rivalries with an enthusiasm that makes me smile.

It’s easy to forget how much I used to dislike him. Sitting here with him now, sharing burgers and banter, I almost feel like I’m getting to know an entirely different person. One who’s kinder, funnier, and far more vulnerable than I allowed myself to believe.

And damn if that doesn’t scare me just a little.

“Hey,” Bridger says, breaking into my thoughts. “You okay?”

I blink, realizing I’ve been staring at him, my burger frozen halfway to my mouth. “Uh, yeah. Just distracted.”

His lips hitch as his eyes twinkle with mischief. “By me? Guess I can’t really blame you for that.”

With a groan, I throw an onion ring at him. “You were doing so well. Don’t ruin it now.”

He catches the onion ring midair before it can hit him, then pops it into his mouth with a wink. “Admit it, that was impressive.”

“You’re ridiculous,” I mutter, but I can’t stop the chuckle from slipping free.

For the rest of the meal, we trade snarky comments and easy smiles. By the time we’ve polished off the last of our dinner, I realize that I’m not ready for the tentative peace and camaraderie we found to end.

It’s actually nice.

As Bridger leans back in the booth, stretching his long legs out beneath the table, the vulnerability from earlier creeps back into his expression.

“Thanks for coming here with me tonight,” he says quietly, his gaze locked on mine. “I needed this more than I realized.”

My throat tightens, and for once, I don’t deflect. “Me too.”

And just like that, the unspoken tension between us settles into something softer, something that feels a lot like understanding.

24

Bridger

The house is buzzing when I step through the front door. Ryder and Ford are battling it out on NHL 24 in the living room, the sound of buttons clicking rapid-fire and their trash talk spilling into the hallway. Steele lounges on the couch, a textbook open on his lap. I have no idea how he’s able to tune out the chaos that surrounds him. In the kitchen, Hayes and Riggs are deep in an argument about which protein powder reigns supreme.

Steele glances up as I stop in the living room. “Hey. What happened to you earlier? I thought we were grabbing lunch this afternoon.”

“Sorry,” I mutter, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “I got caught up talking to the tech department, hoping there was something else they could do. Maybe give me some insight.”

Steele closes his textbook with a snap before jerking a brow. “And?”

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