“What is that?” I point at a wet stain that looks like drool and a lip gloss smudge. “Did I do that to you?”
Brendan’s mouth quirks. “Do you want the truth?”
“So let me get this straight. I fell asleep on you, drooled on you,andwiped my lip gloss on your sleeve?”
“It’s really not a big deal, Scarlett.”
“Yes, it is!” I try to rub it off, but it does absolutely nothing to help me stop noticing his very nice bicep. “You’re a coach. There are standards. And these standards do not involve me salivating on your arm.” I throw my hands in the air. “It’s just getting worse.”
“Scarlett.” His voice is calm. “It’s fine.”
“I’m pretty sure drooling on you is not appropriate girlfriend behavior.”
“Probably not,” he agrees, but his smile tells me he’s not offended by it the way I am. “Though I have to admit, it was the quietest you’ve been all day.”
“Hey!” I protest with a laugh.
For a moment, the embarrassment I felt disappears, and I catch a glimpse of the Brendan I remember from our high school summers together. Our eyes meet, and for a split second, he doesn’t say anything.
Then he straightens in his seat. “We should be there soon. The hotel’s right across from the arena, so you won’t have far to walk.”
“Great. I want to get over there early tomorrow and see their vendor operations before the crowd arrives.”
He nods. “Smart.”
The bus slows down, and the Charlotte skyline fills the windows. Players are stirring, gathering their belongings.
“So, what’s the plan tonight?” I drop my earbuds in my bag, trying to forget how nice his shoulder felt. “Do coaches eat with the team, or do you have separate plans?”
“Usually, we have a team dinner, then early bedtime. Game preparation starts first thing tomorrow.”
Right.No time to hang out. I hadn’t realized how much I was looking forward to spending time with Brendan until I realized we wouldn’t be.
“So, I’ll just figure out my own dinner plans, then.” I try not to sound disappointed because I shouldn’t be. It’s better for me to let him coach.
He looks like he wants to say something, then looks away. “The hotel restaurant is supposed to be good. Or there’s always room service.”
“Solo dining at its finest,” I add with forced enthusiasm.
The bus pulls up to the hotel, and players file off with their equipment bags and luggage.
“Thanks for letting me use you as a pillow.” I hoist the strap of my bag over my shoulder. “I promise to maintain appropriate personal-space boundaries from here on out.” I move toward the bus door.
“Scarlett.”
“Yeah?”
For a moment, he looks like he’s going to say something. But then his jaw clenches and his expression closes off.
He does that a lot. Like there’s highly classified information he’s decided nobody gets access to.
I just don’t know why he’d look at me that way.
“See you at the game.”
EIGHT
Brendan