Logan’s voice slices through whatever spiral I’ve managed to work myself into. I blink, turn my head, and he’s… offering me a chip.
For a second, I just stare at it. Then at him.
He’s lounging back in his seat, his hood half-off his head. His fingers are still outstretched, a chip balanced between them.
He shrugs one shoulder. “Truce.”
“Truce,” I echo, eyeing the chip.
“Jesus, Hayes. It’s not poisoned,” he says with an eye roll. “I just… I know you like to sit alone and I’m probably the last person you’d pick to sit next to.”
My pulse jumps, wanting to tell him he’s right and so fucking far from the truth at the same time.
“So,” he adds, chip still hovering between us, “here. You haven’t eaten the whole ride, and it’s kinda freaking me out.”
I glance down at the chip, then back at him. He tilts his head slightly, waiting for me to take it.
I sigh, shake my head, and take it from him anyway. He grins instantly, his eyes lighting up.
I toss the chip into my mouth, mostly to shut him up.
He leans back with this satisfied little smirk, draping his arm over the seat.
I turn toward the window, press my temple into the cold glass, and pray it cools whatever the hell is happening to my neck.
The bus hisses to a stop in the hotel lot, brakes screeching loud enough to wake the three freshmen drooling against their windows.
Austin’s already unbuckled before we’re fully stopped. “Finally,” he groans, grabbing his duffel. “If I sit here another minute, my ass is going to turn square.”
“Stay seated,” my dad barks.
Naturally, no one does.
Hockey bags get yanked down from overhead as soon as the bus comes to a stop.
“I call the biggest room,” Austin announces, already halfway out of his seat.
Ryan glances over at him. “You can’t call a room you haven’t seen.”
Austin twists around, smirking. “You’re just grumpy as fuck because you won’t be able to fuck your girlfriend for the next two nights.”
My dad pauses mid-step and slowly turns, narrowing his eyes down at Austin.
Ryan’s already rubbing a hand down his face. Isabella’s cheeks flush red, and she ducks behind her cup. I grind my teeth, my brain attempting to block those words. Because—Jesus Christ—I donotneed visuals of my sister’s sex life.
Austin seems to realize exactly what he’s done, because all the color drains from his face. “I meant—uh—sleep,” he blurts. “Like… quality bonding time.”
“Fucking hell, just shut up,” Ryan mutters. “You’re making it worse.”
Austin throws his hands up. “Kidding! Obviously. Would never say that in front of you, Coach. Total respect. Big fan of your daughter. Shit—not like that.”
I drag a hand down my face. “He’s actually still talking,” I mutter under my breath.
“Rhodes.”
Austin blows out a breath. “Yes, coach?”
“If I hear one more sentence out of your mouth that makes me want to bleach my eardrums, you’re sleeping in the parking lot.”