A moment later, he stepped into the aisle and started moving toward the back of the plane…toward me. It took him some time to reach us because he stopped to talk to his friends every now and then on his way.
Eventually, he stopped right next to my seat and I smiled up at him.
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
“What’s going on?”
My smile shifted from small to big. “Nothing.”
He laughed and shook his head. Holding on to my armrest, he crouched on his heels.
“You’re coming with the team? To photograph us?”
Forgetting all about Miriam and Cash, I turned my body to face him. He was pulling on me like a magnet, it seemed. I went to put my hands next to his, but they were in the way so I kept mine to myself. “Yeah. It’s for something the school paper is working on, I think. My photography professor asked us if we could go, so here we are.”
His eyes warmed. “Here you are. Why didn’t you tell me? Wait.” He stood up and lifted the headphones off the head of the guy sitting in the seat across the aisle from me. “Drew, take my seat.”
Just like that, the guy jumped up and Dylan took his place.
As he sat down, a flight attendant appeared from behind us.
With a smile fixed on her face, she said, “Seatbelts, please. We’ll be taking off in a few minutes.”
Nodding, I fastened my seatbelt, and Dylan did the same.
When our eyes met again, I smiled. “Hi.”
My heart leapt at the sight of his easy smile, always so open and warm.
“Hi yourself.”
“Dylan.”
The unexpected voice startled both of us.
“Get back to your seat. I need to talk to you and Chris about a few changes we’re going to make,” said Mark. I noticed the guy waiting just behind him, the one Dylan had swapped seats with. He looked just as uncomfortable as we did.
Intentionally, I kept my eyes on Dylan’s face and watched his brow draw together in confusion.
“Coach, we already have a meeting right after we—”
“Back to your seat, son.”
Son.
Was that his way of saying Dylan was off limits too? I couldn’t be friends or friendly with the guy he himself had sent to live with me? Sure, when he’d given him the apartment keys, he hadn’t expected me to be in the apartment, but still, I was living with the guy.
Dylan did what he asked and undid his belt to get up, but when his eyes found mine, he was still sporting a scowl. I dragged my eyes back to Mark then pointedly looked away before he could say anything.
* * *
It was after we had entered the hotel we’d be staying in for the weekend when I next saw Dylan and Chris. He broke off from his friends when he noticed me standing apart from Miriam and Cash and made his way to my side. He was wearing his black sweatpants, and I could’ve sworn he had a dozen or more of them in different shades of gray and black, just so he could make a girl go crazy. My personal favorite was the light gray. A tight black t-shirt covered his torso and pulled all the attention to his biceps and chest.
“Which room are you in?” he asked, head tilted, eyes on the envelope in my hand.
“Uh, let me check.” I forced my eyes away from his body and opened the envelope I’d picked up from a table where the hotel employees had lined up dozens of them. “Room 412. I’m sharing with Miriam.”
He gave me a chin lift. “We’re on the same floor. I’m with Chris.”
One of his teammates drew his attention by slapping his shoulder so he turned away. I looked around me. Mark was nowhere to be found, but the other coaches were busy trying to wrangle all the guys. Some of them were handing out sheets of paper while others were simply huddled together and talking. My eyes found Chris and when I saw him glancing my way, I forced a smile on my lips, not sure how I was supposed to react. Instead of smiling back like I’d hoped he would, he shook his head and turned back to talk to one of his friends. Feeling more and more alone by the second, I pulled my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans and sent a group text to Jared and Kayla.
Me: Okay, we landed and made it to the hotel. There are so many people and I know no one other than Dylan. Oh, and Mark is pissed at me. When I say pissed, I mean PISSED! But I ignored him on the plane so be proud of me. I’m only texting you guys because I have no idea what I’m supposed to do and instead of standing in the middle of the lobby looking around like a little fish out of water, I need something to do with my hands. Write back so I can stop talking to myself like a weirdo and have a meaningful conversation with you guys instead. Quick. Quick.