Austin lets out a sigh. “No respect for greatness.”
“Gravity, you mean,” Ryan says with a scoff. “Trip and fall next time, maybe you’ll score two.”
Logan shakes his head, a laugh caught in his throat. “You ever notice they argue about the same shit every trip?”
I glance across the aisle where Austin’s still talking, and Ryan’s pretending not to listen. “You’d think they’d get tired of it.”
“Not a chance,” he says, with a smirk. “Rhodes could talk to a wall and still lose the argument.”
That earns a small scoff from me before I can stop it.
Logan hears it immediately, of course. “Was that a laugh, Hayes?”
God, I hate how smug he sounds. “No.”
He leans in just enough that his shoulder brushes mine. “Definitely was.”
I don’t give him the satisfaction of looking over. Instead, I reach down and fiddle with the strap of my duffel like it suddenly needs adjusting. “You’re imagining things.”
“Or…” he says, dragging it out like he already knows he’s getting under my skin, “you’re just in denial that this might be your best road trip yet.”
I shoot him a look. “Why’s that?”
He grins. “Because you get to sit next to me, of course.”
My eyebrow lifts before I can stop it. “Pretty sure that’s what makes it the worst one.”
He laughs, annoyingly pleased with himself. “You say that, but deep down, I know you’d miss me.” He bumps his shoulder with mine, and it pisses me off, how he touches me like it’s nothing, like it hasn’t been messing with my head for days.
I turn back to the window, tracking the blur of trees rushing past. Focus on that. Not him. Not whatever look he’s giving me. Not the heat sitting low in my stomach.
Don’t think about it.
Don’t think about him.
Don’t think about?—
But my brain’s already gone there.
Back to the locker room.
Back to his hand on my thigh.
Back to the split second where everything in me just… stopped.
I drag in a slow breath and rub the back of my neck like I can erase the memory with friction alone.
It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t.
Just a reaction.
Just my body startled.
Just nerves. Muscle memory. Whatever excuse makes sense.
That’s the story I keep telling myself, anyway.
“Hey.”