Page 11 of Cold Comeback
"Showing off for the teacher?" Pluto asked.
It was an innocent chirp. The kind of thing that got said in every locker room in the world, but Gideon's head snapped up like it was a calculated insult.
"Focus on your own workout." His voice was sharp enough to cut glass.
The gym went quiet. Pluto blinked, genuinely confused. Gideon didn't snap at people. Gideon was steady. Controlled. The guy who told everyone else to calm down.
I dropped from the bar. "He's just having fun. No harm."
Gideon stared at me. "Some of us take this seriously."
"Some of us know how to do both."
Knox finished his set and sat up, glancing back and forth like he was watching a tennis match.
Linc cleared his throat. "Maybe you two should talk this out somewhere private before one of you says something stupid."
Too late for that, I thought, but I followed Gideon out of the gym anyway.
He led me down a quiet hallway near the equipment room. Most of the team had cleared out, and our footsteps echoed off the concrete walls. He stopped and turned to face me, jaw tight.
"We need to talk."
"Finally."
"About boundaries. About keeping things professional."
I laughed and clammed up when I saw the intense expression on his face. "Professional? You nearly put me through the boards out there."
"You think this is a game?"
"I think you're scared of what you want."
His nostrils flared. "You don't know what I want."
"Don't I?" I stepped closer. He didn't step back. "Tell me I'm wrong, Gideon. Tell me you didn't spend last night thinking about those texts. Tell me you didn't want to respond."
"It doesn't matter what I wanted."
"Bullshit." Another step. Too close. Locker-room-close. This’ll-end-badly-close. "Tell me I'm wrong and I'll back off. Tell me you don't feel this and I'll request a trade tomorrow."
His breathing was shallow. "The team—"
"Fuck the team. This is about you and me."
"My position—"
"Your position isn't going anywhere."
"Your situation—"
"My situation?" I was close enough to smell his soap now. Close enough to count his eyelashes. "My situation is that I want you and you want me and we're both too chickenshit to do anything about it."
He froze. "Tell me I'm wrong," I whispered.
He didn't tell me I was wrong.
Instead, he grabbed the front of my practice jersey and shoved me against the wall.
