Page 55 of First Puck

Having any kind of conversation with Brad after yesterday morning was the last thing I wanted, but the other guys were queuing up behind Lance.

“Hurry up!” someone called from the front of the bus. “What’s going on?”

Brad and Lance had to make a decision. I didn’t want any more drama than there already was.

“You moving or what?” Tommy finally got involved, scowling from the seat in front of us.

Lance spun on one foot, and all I heard was Lance’s chuckle as he descended and the other guys filed past, splitting the four of us apart.

“Hey,” Brad said on a breath as he turned to me with a cautious expression.

I looked away from him, facing solidly out the window so he didn’t see how messed up I still was. His hand was hot on my arm, and I didn’t want him to let me go.

“Alex,” he said softly, his clothes rustling as he leaned closer. “Come on, man.”

He was close enough that his heat traced my skin.

I’d been point-blank avoiding him for exactly this reason. Because as soon as he said sorry, I knew I’d give in.

From the way Brad had acted afterward, it didn’t mean anything—at least not to him. Even though his moans still echoed in the back of my throat.

And that was another reason it was dangerous to be around him now.

As he squeezed my upper arm, I got a flash of how easy it would be for him to grab my wrists, pin me to the window, and kiss me until I couldn’t breathe.

“Alex, I’m sorry, okay?”

I knew if I turned around, I’d meet his beaten puppy look that everyone always fell for.

“Brad, it doesn’t go away with a quick apology,” I whispered, my voice nearly lost as the bus rumbled to life.

There was more rustling from his side and a light breath tickled the shell of my ear. Loads of the guys were around us, yelling and chatting and generally being loud enough that they shouldn’t be able to hear us. But maybe they’d see us, and maybe they wouldn’t care.

I spun around, coming face-to-face with his hurt expression, begging me to forgive him.

“You kissed me, Brad,” I said quietly. “And you didn’t do it because you wanted to.”

I pressed my lips together, and I know he caught the tremble of my fist on my thigh. “Who kisses their friend just to check if they are into someone?” I asked, my pain seeping into my voice.

Brad paused, his expression twisting in what could be realization, like it was only just dawning on him what he’d done.

His lips parted as he searched for what to say. I appreciated how he was taking time to think instead of blurting out whatever stray thought got first place, but would it actually help?

“Yeah, I know,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and keeping his voice down. “It was seriously shitty of me.”

The ache pounded harder through me, right down to my stomach.

Because I could tell straight away he didn’t understand. He was apologizing because he knew he needed to, but that was all.

“Okay, Brad, but do you get why it was shitty?” I asked, just hoping he could figure it out himself.

His gaze slipped from mine and my heart sunk. I wished we could talk somewhere less exposed, instead of stuck between him and the window with other players on all three sides. But it was probably better that way. Then I had an excuse for why I couldn’t tell him how I felt instead of just beating myself for wasting another opportunity.

It felt like the closest we had come to having an honest conversation about my feelings in years. I still wanted to throw up, even though neither of us had really said a thing.

“Yeah, but, like I said, I want to make sure your thing with Lance is really real,” he replied without a trace of irony.

My eyebrows shot up. I had hoped that was something he had said in the heat of the moment in the kitchen. I had hoped that he actually felt something else, and he would give me a more plausible excuse.

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