Page 154 of Between the Blue
“My contract with the Storm ends this year,” Ben says, his eyes down on the scrapbook. “They’ve already offered me another four-year deal. I just need to put pen to paper.”
I look at him for a few seconds, trying to hear what he’s not saying. “Why haven’t you?”
He shakes his head slowly. “I don’t know.”
“Has any other team offered you a contract?”
Ben chuckles quietly. “A few.”
I cock my head at him. “Bit of a Bennett James bidding war?”
“From Los Angeles to Sweden,” he says, matter-of-factly.
He raises his gaze to look at me, and I raise a brow. “Fancy.”
“I guess,” Ben shrugs, returning his attention to the scrapbook. He flips the page, and I take a step closer to look on with him.
“And what about you?” he asks.
“Hmm?”
“Are you liking Texas?”
My lips curve up at the corners. “Well, I came all the way here to take pictures. So, I guess so.”
“You came here for school. And Moreno’s wife’s company.”
My brows pull together as he meets my eyes. And a memory suddenly floods back to me.
I just listen to what you say.
“COBO,” I say.
“Right.” Ben’s throat bobs. “Your pictures are great though.”
A smile spreads across my face. “Thanks, Ben.”
Our eye contact holds for a beat before Ben drops his, focusing on the photo of him on the page he’s on. I lean closer to look at it, even though I know exactly what it is.
“That was that fight you got in for me,” I say quietly, staring down at the photo of Ben on top of Zanders, his fist pounding into his face.
Ben’s forehead creases as he stares down at it, his thumb playing with the edge of the photo paper. “I guess it was.”
I look at his face.
“Just something a friend would do,” he states, monotone.
“Right,” I agree on an exhale.
Ben raises his head, and it’s only then that I realize how close we are to each other. But neither of us moves. Not for several seconds at least.
Not until something seems to catch Ben’s eye and he glances upwards. When he continues looking up, I tilt my own head back, my mouth falling open when I realize what he’s spotted.
Taped just inside the window frame and hanging from a little red ribbon is a tiny bundle of hanging mistletoe.
“Rhett,” I whisper at the same time Ben mutters, “Sutty.”
We both shake our heads, scoffing out a chuckle.
