Page 9 of Puck Your Feelings

"It's six AM and he looks likethat. It'sunnatural."

Groover snorts. "You're just mad because you look like you lost a fight with your laundry hamper."

"I didn't lose. It was a draw."

Kane approaches the bus, and I watch as Washington intercepts him for what looks like a brief conversation. Kane nods, adjusts his sunglasses and heads up the bus steps.

I should probably board before this gets awkward.

Aaaand, it’s too late.

He pauses at the top of the steps, scanning the bus interior like he's calculating optimal seating arrangements using advanced geometry. His eyes land on me, still standing on the pavement like an idiot, and even through the sunglasses I can feel the weight of his stare.

"You coming, Becker?" Cap calls from inside the bus. "Or are you planning to run alongside us for twelve hours?"

"That's just cardio," I call back, but I grab my stuff and climb aboard.

The bus is one of those nice ones with the big leather seats that recline, overhead storage, and a bathroom in the back that everyone will avoid using until hour four when desperationoverrides dignity. Most of the guys have already claimed seats—Wall's sprawled across two seats with his legs in the aisle like a traffic hazard, Petrov is already asleep in the back with his mouth open, and Groover's waving at me from where he's sitting with Mateo a few rows up.

"Becker!" Groover stage-whispers, holding up contraband. "Get over here. We have snacks."

Mateo leans into the aisle, dangling a bag of trail mix. "The good kind. With the yogurt chips."

I start heading toward them when I spot Kane settling into a seat directly across the aisle from Groover and Mateo. I shoot Groover a look that clearly communicatesyou fucking traitor, but he just grins wider.

I'm about to walk past them all when Cap materializes in the aisle, blocking my path.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asks.

"Literally anywhere else?"

"Wrong answer." He gestures to the empty seat beside Kane. "Sit."

I blink at him. "You're joking."

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

"A little bit, yeah."

He just shoots me a look that screamsthis conversation is over.

"Fine," I announce to the bus at large, because if I'm going down, everyone's watching. "But I get the window."

Kane tilts his head. "I don't care about the window."

"Good, because you're not getting it."

"I just said—"

"I know what you said. I'm establishing dominance."

From across the aisle, Mateo whispers to Groover, "Is this what you meant by team chemistry?"

"Shh," Groover whispers back. "It's better than reality TV."

I hoist my duffle into the overhead compartment, then turn to face my nemesis. Kane is sitting in the aisle seat—my path to the window—looking perfectly comfortable and completely unmoved by my presence.

"You're going to have to move," I tell him.