Page 40 of Rule 2: Never Join a Christmas Dating Show

He was waiting for me here because he wanted to update me for Mr. Right things.

“You don’t have to sit with me,” I say.

His eyes round, and he draws back. If I didn’t know he was holding hands with Oskar sixty seconds ago, I might feel apologetic.

But I do know that, so I don’t.

His gaze shifts toward me, his eyebrows somewhat higher than normal. I hate I know that. I shouldn’t.

My eyes narrow, and he jerks his gaze away from me. “I’m fine.”

He takes out his phone, and his fingers tremble. I have a strange urge to swallow them with my own, to tuck him against me so the nervous expression on his face dissipates, and he’s happy and smiling.

I cross my arms instead and stare in front of me.

My teammates file into the bus. They shoot curious looks at me and Sebastian, as if the tension between us is as visible as any wall. The air vibrates between us, air molecules rearranging themselves and trying to become solid rather than float between us.

I rip my gloves off and spread my hands over my thighs, staring down. I sense Sebastian’s gaze on them, but when I turn, he’s looking at the parking lot.

Well, I guess I can’t blame him. He hasn’t seen snow in a while. Must be a pretty weird concept. And I know for a fact he hasn’t been home since he was eighteen, because when I popped into his stepfather’s pawn shop this summer, the guy could barely remember him.

The bus finally jerks to a start. It inches forward slowly, crawling through the slush, then slowing to something slower than a crawl. The windshield is white, and when I turn to look out the window, Sebastian is staring at the equally white sheet of snow.

“Pretty different from California,” I say.

He jerks his head into a nod. Not multiple nods. Just one. His gaze remains fixed on the nonexistent view.

I press my lips together. I’m not sure why he decided to stay sitting next to me when he could have been sitting next to Oskar. Probably laughing or something. But Oskar is sitting next to Coach. Their heads are together, discussing who knows what.

The bus slides, and Sebastian’s phone slips from his hands. He scrambles down for it, but that’s not going to work. Not when the bus is careening over the ice. I pull him back.

He tenses in my arms, his breath heavier than I imagined. It’s the sound I hear late at night sometimes, when I’m thrusting in and out of somebody, and sweat has slicked our bodies together.

His eyes widen.

I hope he didn’t read my thoughts. My cheeks burn. “Sorry. Maybe you should wait until the bus stops sliding.”

“Like now?”

I blink, then realize the bus is continuing forward. Worse, I realize I’m still holding onto Sebastian. He looks wide-eyed and nervous, and I hate it.

I pull my arm away quickly. “Yeah. Um, let me.”

I scramble down and look for the phone, pressing my fingers against the grainy, snow-smudged floor. I move Sebastian’s legs to search for it better, then finally clasp the cold rectangular glass. I lift the phone up triumphantly.

“Thank you.” Sebastian hesitates, then yanks it from me. His face is pinker than before, even though he didn’t exert himself in an athletic manner.

I sit back in my seat. My heart gallops, thudding over unsteady ground, even though a high heart rate so isn’t my thing.

Finally, the bus pulls into the hotel.

My shoulders ease, eager to abandon the odd tension.

The mic crackles, then Oskar announces we’ll have to squeeze into fewer rooms than before.

I press my lips together. Will Sebastian room with Oskar? Will they explore their super special friendship?

I frown, even though it would be totally awesome—really—if they hit it off. They could hold hands way more.