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As soon as the bus made it to our hotel in New Mexico, I all but ran off the bus, needing to put some distance between Camille and me.
During the ride, she must have passed out too because her head was resting on my shoulder, and my chin lay on top of her head. I pretended to be asleep because otherwise, I would’ve had to move from my position and I didn’t want that.
I liked how easily she fit into the crook of my neck, her cotton candy smell that may have been too sweet if it didn’t fit her perfectly.
I still pretended to be asleep when she woke up and moved, replacing her head with her sweater so I wouldn’t wake up. The gesture made me feel something I never felt before. I thought I was becoming sick for a second because surely something was wrong with me.
I stayed like that until we got to the hotel, where we’re now all walking into the lobby to receive our room assignments.
“Travis and Hugh, room 268,” Coach calls out, passing them their keycard.
I find Camille talking with one of the female trainers on the team.
“Noah and Ryker, room 269.” He passes us the card and glares at us, daring us to make a joke over the room number. In my periphery, Cuddy stifles a laugh because if anyone’s going to make a joke about it, it’s him.
When Coach continues down the line, Cuddy whispers in my ear, “Two can dine for sixty-nine. That’s literally your room. 269, get it?”
I don’t turn my head, side-eyeing him and doing my best not to laugh. It’s an immature joke, but it’s Cuddy, and anything he says usually makes my permanent scowl falter.
“Camille and Mackenzie, room 275.” Coach passes them their respective keycard, and I don’t miss the look of apprehension on Camille’s face. She looks slightly frightened, and it only fuels this incessant need to protect her.
What is it that she’s so afraid of?
Once Coach is done handing out room assignments, he gives us strict instructions to go drop off the stuff we don’t need and to relax before we meet back in the lobby in an hour to head to a pregame practice.
But I have a different mission in mind when I spot Camille. She sits in the café off to the side of the lobby, scrolling on her phone instead of following everyone to the elevators.
With a quick check to make sure no one’s left around, I approach her.
“What’s wrong, princess? And no bullshit.” I don’t pull that card all the time, but I’m over being oblivious to what has her worrying this much.
Her head snaps up, and I immediately notice the indent on her full bottom lip from her teeth digging into it. Camille inhales deeply, her icy blue eyes trained on mine. “I don’t like having a roommate, especially when it’s someone I don’t know. I need my own space.”
I’m tempted to ask why, but I know what she just revealed to me was a lot for her. Despite her optimism, she’s locked up like an unsolved Rubik’s cube right now.
“Are you looking for a room?” I ask, nodding toward her phone.
“Yeah, but there’s nothing left here. Everything’s booked up.”
I start talking before I have time to think it through. “You can stay with me. Noah’s girlfriend, Emily, booked a room here for the weekend. He’s sneaking out and spending his nights with her. So it’ll just be me.”
Camille’s cheeks turn pink, her lips parting slightly. “You…what? Want me to room with you?”
“If it’ll make you more comfortable, then yes. Mackenzie’s hooking up with Cuddy, so I’m sure she’ll be inviting him over to your room anyway,” I explain.
“Did you miss the part where I said I like my own space?” One of her dark brows rises at me questionably.
“No, but I also didn’t miss the part where you said everything’s booked up. This is the best offer I can give you, princess.”
Camille exhales in defeat, standing with her bag over her shoulder. “Okay.” She smiles, but I hate the fear in her eyes. Even more so that I don’t know why it’s there. I don’t want her to be afraid around me or because of me.
“Hey,” I murmur, reaching out to grab her hand. It’s soft and small in mine, sending a prickle of energy running through me.
She yanks her hand away a second later as she schools her face to one of indifference.
“You need to stop doing that. Especially if we’re sharing a room. No mixed messages. Not anymore. Just friends.” She stands her ground, staring up at me with determination.
I find myself wanting to reject her proposition, to tell her to hell with that, but she’s not wrong. I’ve been giving her mixed messages since we met because I can’t seem to stay away from her or control myself around her. It’ll suddenly click that I’m not supposed to feel the way I do around her, and that’s when I push her away, leaving both of us confused.
