Page 28 of Huge Pucking Play

I put a hand up to keep him from moving any closer. I mean, what the hell, dude? "Really, I can't. I’m lactose intolerant."

He waves the fork closer toward me. "One bite won't kill you."

"Barnesy, stop it." My patience is wearing thin.

"You're no fun, Doc," he pouts, finally relenting.

I stab at my lettuce, counting the minutes until landing.

The hotel lobby bustles with tired players and staff. I drag my suitcase to the elevator, desperate for sleep after a long flight. Why does flying wear me out so much? I’m literally sitting doing absolutely nothing for hours.

The elevator arrives and I get on with about eight other people. The doors start to close when a large hand shoots out, stopping them.

My heart leaps as Garrett steps in. He settles in right next to me so close I can smell his shampoo—fresh and clean, mingling with the subtle musk of his cologne.

"Hi," I breathe.

"Hey." His voice is low, eyes intense.

We stand in charged silence as the elevator climbs.

I want to say something, anything. But what?

Sorry I've been avoiding you? I can't stop thinking about you? This is killing me?

Of course I don’t say any of these things for a variety of reasons. We’re just friends, we agreed. And there are five Blades players on this elevator as well.

The elevator ding announces the seventh floor. I glance over to say good night to him but notice he’s getting ready to get off the elevator as well. We’re on the same floor.

We exit, walking down the hall together. I start laughing and he laughs with me. I’m not quite sure what we’re laughing at but the late hour and the ridiculousness of our history so far has obviously gotten to me.

“What room are you in?” he asks.

“703.”

“705 for me.”

“That tracks,” I say, trying not to crack up again.

"Well, good night, Cyn," Garrett murmurs as we reach my room.

"Night," I whisper back, fumbling with my key card.

Once inside, I press my back against the solid wooden door, feeling its cool surface grounding me as my heart races like a frantic drumbeat in my chest.

How is this fair? How are we supposed to work together when every glance exchanged between us feels like a searing flame, with an intensity that is impossible to ignore?

I close my eyes, willing the ache in my chest to subside.

I flick on the lights and freeze. There's a door in the wall connecting to the next room. Garrett's room. You must be kidding me. We have connecting rooms.

My hands shake as I unpack, hyper-aware of every sound from next door. The shower running. Drawers opening and closing.

I shower and change into pajamas, brush my teeth, search for a blanket for the bed, anything to distract myself.

Fifteen minutes pass. I'm in bed, staring at the ceiling, when I hear it. A soft knock.

I hold my breath. Did I imagine it?

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