Page 58 of Puck Your Feelings

Wall flips him off without turning around, which only makes Becker laugh—the loud bark, the surprised one—and I find myself smiling at the sound.

***

Becker

I'M GOING TO develop a permanent crick in my neck from the angle I'm holding it to not-so-subtly watch Kane work on his laptop.

We've been back in the cabin for an hour, settled into what's become our evening routine. Him at the desk, me on my bunk, both pretending to be productive while actually just existing in the same space.

Except I keep getting distracted by stupid shit like the way the laptop screen illuminates his face, highlighting his cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw. Or how he chews on his bottom lip when he's concentrating, which should not be as attractive as it is.

This is a problem.

This is definitely a problem.

"You've been staring at the same page for ten minutes." Kane doesn't look up from his screen. "You okay?"

Busted.

"Yeah, just... tired." I'm not tired. I'm wound up like a spring loaded with poor life choices and inconvenient attraction. "Long day."

"Tell me about it." He closes his laptop and stands, stretching. His shirt rides up slightly, exposing a strip of skin above his waistband, and my brain immediately files this under 'Things I Definitely Didn't Need To See.'

Except I did see it.

And now I can't unsee it.

"I'm showering first" he announces, grabbing his towel. "Try not to broadcast anything while I'm gone."

"Would you let it go already?"

His quiet chuckle follows him into the bathroom.

I flop back on my bunk and stare at the ceiling, trying to figure out when exactly my life became a rom-com I didn't audition for. A week ago, Kane was just the uptight new guy I accidentally started a viral feud with. Now he's the uptight new guy I accidentally started a viral feud with who I maybe, possibly, definitely want to kiss.

Fuck.

The shower turns on, and I firmly do not think about Kane naked and wet on the other side of that door. I absolutely do not think about water running down his chest, or how his shoulders would look slick with soap, or—

Nope.

Not thinking about it.

I grab my phone and open the team group chat, desperate for distraction.

Wall:How's married life in Cabin 12?

Groover:They're probably making out right now

Me:We're NOT making out

Petrov:That's exactly what someone making out would say

Me:I hate all of you

Wall:??

I'm typing out a particularly creative threat involving Wall's backup goalie pads and a wood chipper when the bathroom door opens.