Page 16 of The Hearts We Fumble
Her brow lifts, not the least bit convinced. “And the nickname?”
My grip tightens around my cup, fingers pressing into the plastic. I keep my voice smooth and detached.
“It was nothing.”
Tate doesn’t buy it. Not even a little.
“Sure didn’t look like nothing.”
I exhale; the tension still coiled in my chest.
“Tate, drop it. Please,” I murmur, practically begging her to let it go.
She smirks, nudging me with her elbow. “Fine. For now. But if you start spontaneously combusting later, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Chapter Five
Zane
She walked away like I hadn’t just shaken her foundation with a single word.
Firecracker.
The second I said it, I saw it—the way her shoulders tensed and the flicker of hesitation before she forced herself to keep moving.
A half-second crack in her carefully built walls.
And now? Now, I can’t get the look in her eyes out of my head.
I should let it go. I should turn my attention to literally anyone else. But I don’t.
Instead, I grab a drink from the keg, cross my arms over my chest, and watch her from across the party. Not in a creepy way. Just in a ‘what the hell is she doing to me’ kind of way.
Then I see Knox approach her. See his hand graze her arm.
My grip tightens around my drink.
She’s smiling—not at me, but at him.
And it’s even worse that it’s not just some random guy. It’s one of my teammates.
He leans in and says something that makes her laugh. Suddenly, I’m gripping my beer so damn tight I might snap the thing in half.
I tell myself I don’t care. To look away. To let it go. But my feet are already moving.
By the time I close the distance, I don’t even have a plan.
All I know is I don’t like this.
“Didn’t realize you were taking applications tonight,” I interject, my voice even and controlled.
Wyatt’s head snaps over to mine, her eyes narrowing.
She raises a brow. “Excuse me?”
Knox glances between us, confused but not stupid. He steps back slightly. Wyatt doesn’t, though. Instead, she crosses her arms, tilts her head at me, wearing that same damn smirk that always makes me want to kiss her or argue with her—or both.
“Something you need, Kinnick?”
