Page 32 of Well That Happened

“Caleb said you draw,” I say.

He glances at me. “Sometimes.”

“Ever draw me?”

He hesitates, then looks me right in the eye.

“Yes.”

Oh.

I feel my pulse kick, just a little.

“What was I doing?” I ask, trying to play it cool.

He tilts his head, like he’s debating telling me.

And just as I’m about to ask again, he says—casually, but not casually at all, “You and Caleb seem close.”

It’s a simple statement. But the weight behind it isn’t.

I raise a brow. “You keeping tabs?”

He doesn’t flinch. “Just noticing.”

I step closer, leaning one hip against the counter beside him. “You planning to draw that too?”

His mouth twitches. The closest I’ve seen to a smile.

“Depends how it ends.”

We’re close now. Closer than we’ve been. And I swear, if I leaned just an inch to the left…

But he steps back.

Not cold. Just… careful.

“I’ve gotta meet Coach,” he says, voice steady. “You good?”

I nod.

But as he leaves the room, the air still buzzing in his wake, all I can think is—

No.

I’m not.

Not even a little.

Chapter Nine

Rilee

Laundry day in a house full of hockey players is less “domestic bliss” and more “chaotic survival with occasional body spray assaults.”

I’m crouched in front of the dryer, pulling out a tangled mess of my scrubs and one of Caleb’s suspiciously soft hoodies I may or may not have claimed as my own. My hair’s in a top knot. I’m in shorts and a faded band tee that definitely shrank in the last wash—hello, crop top.

I hear footsteps behind me and glance over my shoulder just in time to see Grayson.

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