Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

brOCK

It’s been almost a full day since I spoke to Presley in any form, and I hate it. We haven’t gone this long without talking to each other in some way since the first couple weeks after we met. We saw each other when I came into the facility for my physical this morning, but our only contact was her fake happy wave, the same one she gave me when I left her apartment last night, and by the time I got done with the team doctor, she wasn’t in the training room anymore.

Her cookies were.

Well, our cookies. I saw the box sitting on one of the tables in the training room with a note in her handwriting for everyone to help themselves. When I looked inside, I noticed she’d packed up the ones I’d decorated as well. I didn’t eat one last night since I left early, so I took advantage. And I felt guilty with every bite.

I lectured Lincoln about not saying anything that would make her think our friendship was more than it was, and yet somehow I ended up doing exactly that. How stupid of me to tell her I liked her too. It seemed like such an innocent thing for her to say, to express her contentment with our friendship, that my answer came automatically. I was feeling the same thing, I thought. Gratitude for those moments together and how easy it was to be together.

Then she kissed me.

I was so surprised, I kissed her back. It came automatically, like Presley and I kissed all the time. I can’t explain why my lips did that before I pulled away. It kind of just happened.

Maybe she kissed me on accident, and we can put this behind us?

I groan to myself as I make my way to my rental car in the facility parking lot. I totally blew up my friendship with Presley by unknowingly leading her on. There’s no fixing this.

On the bright side, the doctor said I was in great shape and he’d have me cleared for practice tomorrow. I’m eager to start working with the team, seeing where I fit.

Should I text Presley and tell her the good news? Act normal, like we didn’t kiss last night and she didn’t confess that she likes me romantically?

But acting normal and allowing our friendship to grow like it did is what got me in this mess in the first place. I think of our hugs and how I found comfort in them. It’s not Presley’s fault she read into them. It didn’t even cross my mind at the time that they might feel like more to her.

I spend the afternoon arranging to have my stuff moved to LA. For now I’ll put it in a storage unit until I find a permanent place to stay. The nice thing about having money is that moving isn’t a pain. It makes the process of changing teams easier, which is something I need. When that’s all done, I head down to the gym at the hotel and hop on a treadmill. I need to run off some energy and distract myself from thinking about how I was going to ask Presley if she wanted to help me house hunt.

Maybe I could text her to ask if she knows a good real estate agent. That’s pretty much business, and if I keep our texts to that kind of thing and talk about TOK, I can avoid leading her on even more. More than anything, I don’t want Presley to think I’m playing games with her .

But asking her about houses could also seem domestic. Intimate.

I growl as I increase the speed on the treadmill. Can I really not figure out a way to fix this?

As I finish up my five-mile run, Lincoln texts, telling me to come over for dinner. I’m grateful for the invitation. My evening was stretching out wide in front of me with nothing to do except study the new playbook. And considering I screwed up my relationship with Presley, Lincoln is my only friend in LA. Lincoln’s neighborhood has exploded with Christmas decorations since I was here last. Most of the houses have classy, understated decorations with simple lights and wreaths, but I pass one with a lawn crowded with a blow up Santa, reindeer, snowmen, and even a nativity.

Margot is already down for bed by the time I get to Lincoln’s, which is disappointing. The steak and roasted vegetables meal is plated and sitting on the dining room table for us, probably left by the chef that comes in to cook for them. Both Layla and Lincoln have specific diets, so it’s a lot easier for them if someone else plans it out and executes it. When I was in Denver, there was a woman I hired regularly during the season. I put that on my mental list to get arranged for here in LA.

Is that something innocent I can text Presley about to clear the air? The tacos she chose yesterday were delicious, even if what happened after the meal was disastrous. She’s clearly familiar with my dietary needs and might know someone who is as well.

I can just as easily ask someone on the team, and she knows that.

I put her out of my mind. I came over here as a distraction and to stop replaying those awkward moments in Presley’s apartment last night.

“So,” Lincoln says once we’re all eating. “Something happened with you and Presley.” He studies me as he stabs a piece of steak with his fork .

So much for distraction.

“Nothing happened,” I say quickly, but my heated cheeks are like a siren that something did happen, just not what Lincoln probably thinks.

“ Something did.” Lincoln waves the bite of steak around. “Every time I said your name today, she got this fake-looking smile on her face, and she changed the subject as quickly as possible. The cookies were great, by the way.”

I rub my hand across my face. “I didn’t make them. Just helped decorate.”

“Explain,” Lincoln says, his voice the slightest bit stern, like he doesn’t mean for it to come out that way but he can’t help it. It’s probably protectiveness. Presley’s a part of their Tuesday gossip session and quilting bee or whatever because they’re all in the facility at the same time that day.

“Presley told me … she has feelings for me. And…” I trail off because she never said that, only that she liked me, which is what she meant. It was the kiss that explained. “She, uh, kissed me. And then I had to tell her … I don’t feel the same.” It’s as difficult to explain now as it was last night when Presley and I fumbled around for words.

Lincoln’s eyes widen, and he shares a look with Layla. Some unspoken conversation happens before they both turn back to me. “And … that kiss was really just … nothing?” Lincoln asks.

Of course it wasn’t nothing. It was a big, fat bomb to our friendship. It blew everything up because Presley thought I wanted to kiss her.

“We’re just friends—I mean, I thought we were just friends. I clearly did something to make Presley believe it was more, and now our friendship is probably ruined.”

Layla squints at me, her fork hovering over the pile of perfectly seasoned roasted vegetables on her plate. “So you didn’t feel anything? No spark?” She sounds confused, like I told her Margot was an ugly baby. That’s preposterous, and we all know it .

“No?” I look back and forth between Lincoln and Layla. The kiss happened so fast there wasn’t anything to feel except surprise.

Lincoln smirks. “That sounds like a question.”

“Don’t you think I’d know if I felt that way about Presley? Wouldn’t the sparks be obvious?” I’d want to spoil her the way Kurtis is always showering my mom with his time, attention, and gifts, like flowers and trips. I wouldn’t be able to keep my eyes and hands off her, like Tim and Meg.

Layla shrugs. “I guess the sparks were obvious for me once I started paying attention, but I was so intent on not feeling anything that I kind of ignored what I thought was just friendship.”

Lincoln laughs before giving his wife that adoring look that makes me happy for him—and jealous at the same time. “I was in love with her the first time I saw her.”

She snorts. “That’s ridiculous. You didn’t even know me.”

He plants a light kiss on her lips. “Didn’t need to.”

“Ahh, so it was all superficial,” she teases.

“The first time I saw you, you were holding Margot,” he says like that’s all the explanation he needs to give. It works though, because Layla’s eyes go soft, and she gazes at him with the same love he stares at her with.

Yeah, I would definitely know if I felt this way about Presley. Even I can feel the chemistry between Lincoln and Layla right now, so surely I’d know if it was happening to me.

But the truth is … I don’t remember what I felt when she kissed me. Like I said, everything happened so quickly. Her mouth was on mine, and it was soft and nice?—

Okay, that explains it. You don’t think a kiss is just nice if you felt a spark, right? It should feel like fire, and I didn’t feel fire.

“Brock?” Lincoln’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. He and Layla stare at me expectantly.

“Uh, yeah? ”

He raises an eyebrow, like explain that , but I shake my head. It’s not what he thinks.

“What?” I ask.

“It’s just … like with Natasha?—”

“We’ve already talked about this. It was different.”

“And you’re not distracted now?” he argues. “You have a lot on your plate, and you have for weeks. Maybe you did start out as friends, but all the stuff with the Devils is overshadowing what’s there.”

I sigh, thinking of all the ways I’ve seen my friends and family show their love. Even Jett, when everything in him told him to stay away from Ava, he couldn’t ignore his obvious feelings for her. “Why am I not finding excuses to see her all the time, the way you went to Layla’s food truck?” Lincoln has the decency to turn red when I remind him of how he bought desserts he could never eat while he was trying to get up the nerve to ask her out. “If I was in love with her, I’d want to kiss her the moment she walks into a room, wouldn’t I?”

“Everyone loves differently, Brock,” Layla says. “That’s why there are books and books and books about the psychology of it.”

“I’d know,” I insist.

“So that’s it?” Lincoln asks. “Your great friendship with Presley is just over?”

Something heavy drops into my stomach. I’ve been dreading facing this thought since last night. I hate the idea of not having her in my life.

“No,” I reply automatically. “We can still be friends.”

Layla and Lincoln share another one of those couple looks. “For now,” Lincoln says slowly. “You can’t be book besties when she’s married to someone else.”

I open my mouth to retort that it’s about books so why not but can’t say it.

Layla snaps her fingers a couple times. “What’s his name? From the wedding. I think you said he plays for the Cobras now?”

“Brendan Tanner,” Lincoln says. I tense. He was a receiver, like Lincoln, who played at USC with us. I don’t talk much to him now, so I can’t explain why I don’t like where I think Layla’s going with this.

“We should set her up with him. She could probably convince him to read those books.” She whips her head toward me. “What’s the name of them?”

I blink at her and stare for several seconds. “I know what you guys are doing.”

Layla’s eyes are the picture of innocence. She is an actress, and a very good one. “What?”

“Trying to make me jealous. Also TOK is not something you convince people to like.” I should’ve stopped talking before I said that. It does sound jealous. Even I hear it. Like no one could possibly share the bond Presley and I have over those books because we’ve both loved them since childhood.

The thing is no one likes TOK, and it’s not going to suddenly become popular after twenty years.

“Listen.” My tone is defensive, and Lincoln bites his lips together, probably to keep from laughing at me. “Okay, you and Eli and his sister all ended up with people you were friends with first, but it doesn’t mean that every time a man and a woman are friends that romance is around the corner.”

Amusement is written all over Lincoln’s face. He holds up his hands in surrender. “So you and Presley are going to go back to being friends—for now.” It’s like he can’t help but add that. “As soon as you get past the awkward. Sounds great.”

I sigh and go back to eating. He doesn’t get it. Fine. He’s not matchmaking, so I’ll be grateful for that and figure out how to fix my friendship with Presley.

It’s fine .