Page 36 of The Rule Breaker (Colton U Playbook #1)

RYAN

T he bus ride to an away game always smells like sweat and way too much Axe. Same cramped seats. Same idiots yelling over each other the entire ride.

Honestly? I kinda like it. It means game day. It means I get to hit the ice and stop thinking about everything else for a few hours. Westbrook plays fast and loose, which means we just have to hit harder and outskate them. Simple plan. Just gotta stick to it.

But there’s something different about the team bus this time.

Because she’s here.

Isabella climbs onto the bus, her hair pulled into a ponytail that I want to tug and— Jesus . Focus. She doesn’t even glance my way at first, scanning for a seat near the front.

Still, my eyes are on her.

Can’t help it.

She finally looks up, and for half a second, our eyes meet. That’s it. That’s all I get. But it’s enough to make my chest tighten and a dumb smile tug at the corners of my mouth.

I look away before it becomes obvious. Before someone—anyone—picks up on something they shouldn’t.

Fuck, she looks good. Always does. But today?

She’s wearing that fitted jacket that hugs her waist just right, and those leggings—Jesus.

Tight enough to short-circuit my brain. Nope.

Not going there. Last thing I need is to sit through a four-hour bus ride with a boner surrounded by sweaty hockey guys.

She’s always at practice, but this is the first time she’s traveling with us. First time she’s taking the lead on anything big. Coach handed her the plays for Westbrook, which is kinda huge. And I know she’s nervous, but she’s ready.

I’m so fucking proud of her. I have no doubt that she’ll do great.

Her eyes find mine for half a second before she glances away. She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t give anything away, and yeah I get it. We can’t afford to slip, not with a bus full of guys who live to talk shit.

Still, part of me wishes she’d smile at me and walk straight to the back and sit beside me.

But that would definitely raise a few eyebrows.

The rest of the guys, a mix of rookies and bench players, pile in behind her and take their usual spots up front.

Logan hops on next, taking a deep, dramatic inhale and sighs. “Ah, you smell that? That’s the scent of victory, boys.”

Austin snorts as he steps on. “No. That’s the scent of your rank-ass gear. Jesus.”

Logan just grins like an idiot. “Still smells like winning to me.” Then he turns and throws me a look. “You ready for tonight?”

“Always,” I reply with a shrug. “Westbrook’s fast, but their D is a mess. We hit hard, push early, they’ll fall apart.”

Logan nods, and just like that, his game face clicks in. He jokes a lot, but when the puck drops, he flips the switch. “Think they’ll come for you early?”

“They can try,” I say, smirking. “I’ll be ready.”

“Good.” He leans back in his seat. “I got twenty bucks on you throwing the first hit.”

I chuckle, but my head’s already in the game. First shift. First hit. First goal.

And maybe, if I don’t totally screw up, a glance from the girl standing on the sidelines—who I’m not supposed to want.

Yeah. That too.

Cole gets on next. Doesn’t say a word. Just beelines it to the back, drops into his seat. Pops a piece of gum in his mouth and stares out the window.

Austin—who has never been quiet a day in his life—flops onto the seat in front of me. Stretches like he’s been doing hard labor, cracks his neck, and glances around.

“All right, boys. Who’s getting lucky tonight?”

I groan. “Jesus, Austin.”

Logan grins. “It’s a legit question.”

Cole doesn’t even bother looking up. Just raises a brow and mutters, “Not you.”

Austin, used to Cole’s charming personality, blows out a breath. “Sounds like jealousy to me.”

Nathan’s got his headphones on, like always. Zoned out, probably blasting music. We all know better than to mess with him pre-game.

I shake my head, leaning back in my seat. “Let’s focus on winning first.”

Austin smirks. “Winning on the ice or winning in bed?”

I level him with a deadpan stare.

He chuckles. “C’mon. You guys know away games mean girls are dying to?—”

A throat clears. Loudly.

The entire bus goes silent.

Isabella stands in the aisle, arms crossed, one brow raised. “Excuse me?” she says.

Austin looks like he’s about to shit himself. “Uh—team bonding. We were talking about team bonding.”

Her eyes move slowly from Logan to Cole to Austin, unimpressed. “You do realize I’m right here, don’t you?”

No one says a word.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. She’s got all of them terrified, and honestly? It’s kinda hot.

Austin’s brows lift, and he shrugs. “Well, shit, we’re not about to leave you out. You looking for a date too?”

Before she can fire something back, Coach’s voice slices through the bus.

“Rhodes!”

Austin throws his hands up. “Right, right. Sorry, Coach.” Then he swivels to Isabella again, that dumbass grin stretching wider. “But if you are looking for a date?—”

Coach sighs like his soul is slowly dying. “Christ. Isabella, come sit up front with me and get away from those idiots.”

Her eyes slide to me, and something tightens in my chest. Fuck . I wanted her next to me. Four hours with her beside me? Would’ve been the best part of the damn trip.

I slip my phone out from under the seat and type fast.

Me:

I need another no-questions-asked.

Austin’s phone buzzes and he glances down. I catch the way his lips twitch into that cocky-ass smirk, and a second later, my phone vibrates with a text.

Austin:

You’re gonna owe me big time. What is it?

Me:

Sit next to Coach.

He reads the message, brows pulling together. I don’t even care if he knows at this point. He stands, stretches, and slides into the seat beside Coach.

“Hey, Coach. Mind if I join?”

Coach turns his head slowly, eyes narrowing. “I mind very much ?—”

“Sweet,” Austin cuts in, draping an arm across the headrest. “So, I was thinking about coaching strategies?—”

Coach exhales the deepest, most soul-weary sigh I’ve ever heard and pinches the bridge of his nose.

I tune the rest out. Don’t care. Because Isabella’s already walking toward me.

She doesn’t look at anyone else. Just slips into the seat beside me like it’s the only available seat, given the full bus.

I glance over at her, my heart hammering in my chest. There’s nothing suspicious about this… right? She just prefers sitting at the back.

Who the fuck am I kidding?

It’s suspicious as hell, and if Coach glances back and sees his daughter sitting with me, I’m so completely busted.

But it’s worth it—just to be close to her.

Her eyes narrow, lips curving into the start of a smirk. “That was your doing, wasn’t it?”

I shrug, letting out a quiet laugh. “A ‘no questions asked’ gets me a long way.”

She shakes her head, but I catch the smile she’s fighting. “You’re ridiculous.”

I smirk, leaning back slightly. “And yet, here you are. Sitting beside me.”

The bus hums beneath us as the engine starts, all I can focus on is her.

The warmth of her leg pressed against mine. The faint scent of her perfume that smells so sweet. I shift slightly, pressing my thigh into hers.

She glances around the bus, scanning for anyone watching. Austin’s still up front, talking Coach’s ear off like I told him to. The rest of the guys are mid-convo about god knows what, and Cole’s still got his eyes out the window.

No one’s looking.

So, I take the chance.

I reach over and find her hand. She tenses for a second when my fingers brush hers, but she doesn’t pull away. When I lace our fingers together, her grip tightens like she’s been waiting for me to do it.

I bring our joined hands into my lap, letting my thumb trace slow, lazy circles over the back of hers. Her skin’s soft and so warm. I drag my thumb over the curve of her wrist, feel her pulse thrumming beneath it.

My brows tug. “You’re shaking.”

She lifts her head slightly, eyes flicking to mine before looking away. “Yeah. I’m a little nervous,” she says, blowing out a breath. “This is a big game for you guys, and if I screw up, it’s all on me.”

I shake my head. “We’re the ones out there on the ice. If one of us screws up, it won’t be on you.”

Her gaze drops to our hands, her thumb brushing lightly over mine, like she’s trying to believe me. “I don’t want to let anyone down.”

I squeeze her hand a little tighter. “You won’t.”

She swallows. The silence stretches.

“You nervous for the game?” she asks softly.

I almost laugh, giving a small shrug. “Yeah. Always.”

She tilts her head, her eyes narrowing. “You don’t seem like the type to get nervous about anything.”

I smirk. “That’s because I don’t let it show. But of course I get nervous, Bels. I’m the captain. I’m supposed to lead the team, and Westbrook plays dirty.”

She watches me for a second. “You worried you’ll get hit again?”

My lips twist. “I dunno. I’ve been hit plenty. I just…” I shift in my seat, dragging my thumb over her hand again. “Losing. Fucking up. Letting people down. That’s what gets to me.”

She goes quiet, her gaze on mine. “I’ve seen how the team looks at you. You won’t let them down.”

Something in my chest pulls tight. I glance at her, searching her face, looking for any sign she’s just saying it to make me feel better—but there’s nothing. Just honesty. Conviction.

Her brow lifts slightly, like she knows exactly what I’m thinking. “And if your family can’t see that, then they’re wrong. You’re not the failure they make you out to be.”

Fuck. Her words hit hard. Like she peeled back the part of me I don’t show anyone and touched it without flinching.

I drag in a breath, trying to cover the ache with a grin. “That confident in me?”

She hums, her eyes still on mine. “I know you better than you think.”

And maybe she does.

Maybe that’s what’s so fucking terrifying.

Because the more she sees, the less I want to hide.

And I’ve never felt that with anyone.

She shifts slightly. “So… are you going out with the guys later?”

I let out a chuckle. “You don’t even know if we’re gonna win,” I point out.