Page 10 of Puck Your Feelings

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"Why?"

"Because I need to get to the window seat."

"You could take the aisle seat."

"I just said I wanted the window."

"You could compromise."

"I don't compromise. I'm a Scorpio. Just—" I make a shooing motion. "Move. Stand up. Let me through."

"Ask nicely."

"Excuse me?"

Kane leans back in his seat, looking infuriatingly relaxed. "You want me to move. Ask nicely."

Behind me, I can hear Wall cackling. Groover is definitely recording this on his phone. Even Coach Martin looks amused, the traitor.

"Please," I grit out through clenched teeth, "move your robotic ass so I can sit down."

"That's not nice."

"It's the best you're getting."

He regards me for another moment, then—with the kind of deliberate slowness that suggests he's enjoying this—stands up and steps into the aisle.

Except he doesn't step back far enough.

I'm forced to squeeze past him, my chest brushing his as I shimmy sideways into the row. "You're doing this on purpose," I mutter.

"Doing what?" He sounds innocent, but I can hear the amusement.

"Being a human wall."

"I'm simply standing in the aisle."

"You're standing inmyway."

I finally make it past him—though I'm pretty sure I stepped on his foot at least once, maybe twice—and throw myself into the window seat with all the grace of a baby giraffe on ice skates.

Kane slides back into the aisle seat with economical movements, settling in like he's about to meditate for the next six hours. He pulls out his phone, a pair of expensive-looking headphones, and—I shit you not—a goddamn book.

A physical book.

With pages.

"Are you serious?" I ask.

He doesn't look up. "About what?"

"You brought a book. To a bus ride. With a team full of people."

"I prefer reading to mindless conversation."

"Mindless—" I sputter. "Who are you calling mindless?"

"If the podcast fits."

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