“I’m sorry, Dylan.” I gave his hand another squeeze, and this time he squeezed back. Only problem was, he never loosened his hold. Don’t get me wrong, he didn’t hurt me or anything, but that extra bit of squeeze caused my already pretty fast heart rate to kick up another notch.
Knowing nothing I could say would change anything or lighten his burden, I kept my mouth shut.
His eyes narrowed at me. “You’re not looking away.”
A tingle went through my body. “Should I?”
“You shouldn’t, but that hasn’t stopped you in the past.”
Time to change the subject.
“How long have you been sitting here?”
“I don’t know…ever since I got back, I guess.”
No point in asking what time that was. “Are you hungry?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? I make a mean grilled cheese, and I don’t do it for just anyone.” I gave him a small bump with my shoulder.
“And what makes me special?”
Good job, Zoe. Walked right into that one, didn’t you.
“I…uh…you’re…you know…you’re hungry.”
Lame. Lame. Lame.
The longer he looked at me, the easier it was to spot the twitching muscle in his jaw.
“That’s not much of an answer to my question. How about this question then? Maybe you’ll have a better answer for this one, what do you think?”
I was pretty sure I wouldn’t like the question, but… “What’s the question?”
“Are you still dating him?”
Where had that come from? “You like pushing me, don’t you?” I asked instead of mumbling something meaningless that would only be a lie. I tried to pull my hand away from his so I could walk away. So much for worrying about him.
His hold tightened to the point where my fingers tingled and goose bumps rose up on my arm. Then, just as quickly, it loosened.
“No,” he said roughly. “Stay.” It took only one word. I stayed until he was ready to let go.
I tried to get comfortable as we sat hand in hand. When he saw I wasn’t going anywhere and I wasn’t pulling back, his eyes closed and he rested his head against the wall, jaw still tight, teeth still grinding.
I didn’t know why, but I had a feeling it had cost him something to ask me to stay.
Chapter Fifteen
Zoe
I was doing it. I was really doing it.
I was about to board a plane with Mark, Chris, Dylan, and their whole freaking team.
We were supposed to take the same bus to the airport as the team, but both Miriam and the guy who was coming with us for the interviews, Cash, had been late. Instead of braving it and getting on the bus on my own, I’d opted to take an Uber to the airport with them.
As Cash and Miriam chatted away during the ride over, I was worrying about how my sudden appearance would go over. Neither Mark nor Dylan knew I was joining them for the game. I could’ve and should’ve told Dylan, but after the week he’d had with what had happened to his friend, I’d barely seen him after the night I’d found him sitting in the dark. Even when I did, he usually went to his room to crash as soon as he walked through the door.
That evening had been the second time we’d held hands for what seemed like hours and didn’t even acknowledge it afterward. I wasn’t sure if he saw it as a normal thing, but if you asked my heart and the butterflies that seemed to make a home in my stomach, it was very far from a normal occurrence. It didn’t help that I could still feel the impression of his hand around mine. If I made a fist, I could almost mimic the exact same pressure I’d felt when his hand had squeezed tight around mine.
Miriam’s bag bumped my shin as she wheeled her carry-on bag toward the escalator.
“Shit.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Zoe.” She stopped next to me and released a big sigh. “It’s lunchtime and I didn’t even have breakfast yet. Do you think they’ll give out snacks?”
“It’s not a commercial flight, so I doubt that.”
“You’re right, I guess. I’m hoping there is good food at—”
“What are you doing standing around? They’re waiting for us. Hurry up,” Cash yelled as he passed us in a slow jog. He was wearing a short trench coat even though it was still warm, and he had a wrapped burrito in one hand while he hugged his laptop to his chest, a duffel bag in the other. He was a complete mess.
“I call dibs,” Miriam said quietly, leaning toward me.
“What?”
“Cash—I call dibs on him,” she repeated before following the guy in question up the stairs.
She could have him, all right.
I took my sweet time getting up those steps, so it was no wonder I was the very last person to board the plane. I hated that the anticipation of Mark’s reaction was affecting me to the point that I was on the verge of dragging my feet like a six-year-old.