“Logan,” he says under his breath, his eyes flicking over the aisle. “People are gonna notice.”
“Nobody cares where I sit,” I assure him. “And unless I start licking your neck, I don’t think they’ll notice.”
His jaw flexes, but he doesn’t move away, and his shoulders drop a fraction.
I glance around the bus, watching as the rookies around us pull out their phones and earbuds.
Nobody’s watching us. Nobody’s paying attention. So I let my hand drop between us, brushing against his.
He goes still, exhaling slightly as he glances around the bus again. His fingers shift against mine and my pulse stumbles because he isn’t pulling away.
I shift slightly, pretending to adjust, and let my pinky hook around his.
He glances over at me and our eyes meet, a silent moment passing between us. He’s nervous—I can tell—but he also likes it. Fuck, so do I.
The bus starts to move and I bump my knee against his. “You nervous about the game?”
Nathan meets my eyes and shrugs. “Not really.”
I grin. “You liar.”
He huffs, shaking his head, that quiet laugh that always gets me. “Okay. Maybe a little.”
“So, you still get nervous?” I ask.
His brows pull together. “What do you mean?”
“I dunno,” I say with a lift of my shoulder. “I figured you wouldn’t care whether we win or lose since you don’t like hockey.”
He sighs, leaning his head back against the seat. “It’s not that I don’t like it. I grew up on it. It’s what my dad, my sister, and I bonded over while growing up. I could never hate it. I just…”
“Don’t like the pressure,” I finish for him.
His eyes flick toward me. “Yeah.” He exhales hard. “I don’t want it to be the only thing I do. I don’t want it to define me or be my whole life.”
I nod, rolling my lips together. “Yeah. I get that. I mean, I love hockey. Love it so much I was ready to skip college and go pro straight out of high school, even if it meant joining some crap team in the middle of nowhere.” I drag a hand through my hair. “But sometimes I wish I’d picked up something else along the way.” My jaw ticks. “Sometimes I wonder how it’s gonna work, you know? With me being bi. It’s one thing here, but if I actually make it pro… that’s a whole different world.” I let out a harsh breath. “Most guys just keep their heads down and act like it’s nobody’s business. I get why, but I don’t want to do that,” I admit, glancing at him. “I don’t want to hide, even if it means dealing with a bunch of assholes who have opinions about it.”
“You shouldn’t have to hide who you are just to play hockey,” he replies. “I mean it. I admire you for that. For being so… unapologetically you.” His eyes dip slightly. “I wish I could do the same.”
That admission makes my stomach dip and I lock eyes with him, seeing him swallow hard. I huff a laugh and steer the conversation away. I know he’s still questioning shit and I don’t want to add to the confusion.
“Honestly, I don’t even know if I’m that good at it,” I say with a shrug. “It’s just the only thing I know how to do.”
He shakes his head, frowning at me. “That’s bullshit. You’re talented as hell out there, Logan.”
I feel like a damn teenager whenever he looks at me like that.
I smirk, covering it. “Oh yeah? I just need a little discipline, right?” I nudge his shoulder, reminding him of that first conversation months ago.
The corner of his mouth curves. “Wouldn’t hurt. You could use someone to keep you in line.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Uh huh. That’s why you made up that crap about me being a party boy, huh? You just wanted to keep an eye on me.”
He shoots me a glare. “No. I couldn’t stand you back then.”
“Please.” I laugh. “You were totally into me.”
He doesn’t reply, but his pinky tightens around mine, and my pulse spikes.