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“Cade.”
“Charley.”
I swallow. I’ve never had to deal with anyone who used sweet words to lull people into getting what they want. In fact, it’s not fair. Despite myself, there’s something in me that preens when he calls me Charley. Not Charley-not-Charlotte, and definitely not Charlotte. But he knowsmyname. “But I don’t actually know his number.”
“Let’s see,” Cade says, grabbing the folder and reading down the list. “Ben Fields. Here we go. It’s his cell number.”
“You know the bus driver’s name?”
“He’s been driving our team since I was a freshman. Cool dude.” He pulls his phone out and dials the number with ease, no worried expression on his face. It’s crazy how effortlessly he does things. Second-guessing himself doesn’t seem to be in his repertoire. “Mr. Fields, hi. It’s Cade Farmer. Sorry to bother you so late, but I’m pretty sure I left something on the bus.” He nods. “Yeah, I got the okay from Coach to go get it. Can we meet by the bus in five?” His smile widens. “Perfect. See you then.”
He hangs up and turns the full force of his charm on me. “We’re all set. Chuck will be in your hands in no time, and no one will be the wiser that our game was almost ruined before it even started.”
“You really believe that?”
“Oh, I’m extremely superstitious. I almost threw up when you told me you lost him.”
“Cade!”
He shrugs. “Listen, I don’t make the rules. We need Chuck to win this game tomorrow.”
He strides around the side of the bed and reaches out to touch my forearm. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
That same warmth threatens to take hold, but his touch is so brief that it fades fast. So much so that by the time the hotel door closes behind him, I can’t feel it anymore.
9
Cade
The evening air whips through my thin clothes as I run toward the hotel entrance with the mini statue of a dog stuffed firmly under my shirt. Ben had ushered me along, scolding me that I hadn’t at least worn a sweatshirt while he let me get on the bus, and sure enough, there the statue was, exactly where I last saw it.
Charley must’ve been so preoccupied with texting that she forgot to put it back in her bag.
The automatic doorswhooshopen, and warm air envelops me like someone turned on the stadium spotlights on game night. The hint of cleaning product lingers in the lobby, and when I peer to my left, a hotel employee is mopping the floors by the snack bar. I take a right near the pool, the potent chlorine aroma permeating the single emergency door, and I don’t stop until I get to Charley’s room.
Charley, the enigma. This scatterbrained, shy human who has the biggest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. Who’s as unsure ofherself as a child but sharp enough to cut me down with her words.
I might be completely losing it, but we made progress tonight. Real, unavoidable steps toward… What? I’m not sure.
My knock sounds like thunder in the empty hallway, and I angle away from the rest of the rooms until she opens the door. Lifting my shirt, I show off the cute statue, and she grabs my forearm yanking me inside.
Tearing it from my grip, she’s all smiles. “You’re kidding! I didn’t think it would be there. I thought Hamilton took it or one of the players so they could embarrass me tomorrow.”
She hugs the statue, and I’m almost confused by how many words she just spoke. However, that doesn’t stop me from wanting to tease her. “You let me do that and you didn’t think it would be there?”
She finally peers up at me, startled, as if she forgot I even came in with the Bulldog. “I…wasn’t sure. You weren’t either.”
“Well, it’s safe now, and I’m sure you won’t make the mistake again. If you do, you know where to find me.”
Moving past her, I sit down on the closest bed, stretching my arms out and getting comfortable before I pull out my phone. I’m hyperaware of her staring at me, though I’m not surprised. I’m invading her space again. The thing is, she can’t just tell me to leave now. I’ve saved her.
“What are you doing?”
“You like pizza?” I ask. “I love pizza. I’m going to order one.”
Her silence says it all, and I can’t help myself. I peek up at her. Her knuckles are white as she clings to Chuck. When she sees me looking, she asks, “Here?”
“Hungry?” I counter, deciding I’m not going to answer her questions about staying. Maybe I’ve been going about it wrong. Maybe I just don’t ask her permission.