Page 37 of Julian

“We’ll be back in two days,” I say finally. “I’ll let you know once we have a more precise arrival time.”

“Of course,” she replies easily. “I’ll keep my schedule open.”

There’s no fuss to her, but why do I wish there was just a little bit? Maybe a wish of safe travels or some indication that she might miss me.

Jesus… I’m fucking ridiculous. “Good,” I say, more abruptly than necessary.

She nods once, already shifting her focus back to the task at hand, already moving on.

I turn and nearly run into Tanner.

“Boss man,” he says, falling into step beside me. “You ready for this big roadie?”

“Never easy winning on the road. We need to take one period at a time,” I reply.

He grins, completely unfazed. “That’s fair. Good thinking.”

We start toward the terminal, the glass doors sliding open ahead of us, the hum of early-morning activity spilling out to meet us. It’s an easy exchange, the kind that doesn’t require thought, the type I’ve had a hundred times before with players just like him.

But it feels off somehow.

I catch sight of Harper again, just beyond Tanner. She’s speaking to one of the attendants now, hands tucked neatly at her sides, posture straight, expression calm. There’s a distance to her, even when she’s engaged—like she exists slightly outside of whatever moment she’s in, always maintaining a line that no one quite crosses.

Tanner glances back too, following my line of sight without realizing it.

“Your driver’s good,” he says casually. “Unbelievably pretty. And—”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t need to. There’s a hint of easy playfulness there, the same note he struck a few minutes ago when he was standing at the back of the car playing the gentleman.

A quick flare of heat catches low in my chest before I can make sense of it.

I look away, my focus snapping back to the path in front of us. She’s my employee, for God’s sake.

This is ridiculous. It’s like I’m trying to convince myself of something that ought to be obvious.

Tanner is still talking—about the schedule, about how brutal back-to-back games are—but I’m only half listening now, nodding appropriately, offering the occasional response out of habit more than intention.

Because underneath it, that buzzing is still there.

That heat.

Jealousy.

The word presses in again, unwelcome and a little absurd, and I subtly shake my head at myself.

Jealous of Tanner? Of a throwaway comment and a bit of harmless flirting?

It doesn’t make sense.

There’s nothing there. There can’t be anything there.

She didn’t give him anything back.

I saw that.

So why—

I exhale, sharper this time, dragging a hand briefly along the front of my coat as if I can smooth the thoughts out of existence the same way I would a wrinkle.