Page 30 of Puck Your Feelings

"Becker." Coach's voice snaps me back to reality. "You with us?"

"Yep. Absolutely. Gap control. Very important."

Kane doesn't look at me, but I see the corner of his mouth twitch.

Fucker knows I wasn't paying attention.

The meeting wraps up with Coach reminding us that tomorrow's scrimmage will be "intense" which is code for "you’ll regret being born." Everyone starts filing out, and I'm about to follow when Groover catches my arm.

"We need to talk."

Oh, great. Nothing that starts with "we need to talk" has ever been a fun conversation.

He pulls me aside in the hallway, waiting until most of the team has cleared out before hitting me with: "So. You and Kane."

I blink at him. "There is no 'me and Kane.' There's me, and there's Kane, and there's a cabin we're both trapped in."

"Beck." He gives me the look—the one that says he sees through my bullshit like it's cling wrap. "I've seen the way you look at him."

My stomach does something uncomfortable. "How do I look at him?"

"Like you can't decide if you want to fight him or fuck him."

"Jesus Christ, Grooves—"

"I'm just saying," he continues, because apparently he's hell-bent on ruining my entire evening, "if something's developing—"

"Nothing's developing." The words come out too fast. Too defensive. "We're barely friends. We're... coworkers who happen to sleep in the same room. That's it."

Groover studies me for a long moment, and I resist the urge to squirm like a guilty teenager. "You know, Mateo and I—"

"Mateo and you had a fake relationship that turned real. Kane and I have a real mutual annoyance that's..." I trail off, because I don't actually know how to finish that sentence.

"That's what?" Groover prompts.

"Complicated. It's complicated, and I'm not interested in making it more complicated."

"Okay." He holds up his hands. "I'm just saying And if Kane makes you—"

"He makes me want to strangle him with his own perfectly organized shoelaces."

"That's not a no."

I flip him off and head back toward the cabin before he can psychoanalyze me further.

***

Kane

IT'S 11 PM, and I'm in the bathroom brushing my teeth when I hear Becker enter the cabin after what I assume was a punishinggym session. He's on the phone, voice low but not quite low enough.

"Yeah, Mom, camp's good."

I should probably let him know I'm here. But I'm frozen with my toothbrush halfway to my mouth like an eavesdropping creep.

"The new guy? He's... actually not terrible."

My stomach does something weird.