For once in my life, I’d managed to filter something. I was fairly certain I’d gotten there first, although it took me a while to figure out what the hell was going on.

Her face brightened, her smile returning. “Really?” She shifted, moving closer to me and placing a soft, warm hand on my bare chest.

“Yeah.” I tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “I wanted to make sure you were there too before I said anything. But it’s not a big secret, anyway. Pretty sure half the state knows how I feel by this point.” I leaned in, my mouth hovering above hers. “Feels good to say it, though.”

She smiled against my lips. “Sure does.”

* * *

The week flew by in a blur of classes, practice, and dryland. In addition to her usual heavy workload, Bailey was consumed with completing some massive scholarship application that required an essay, references, and a million other time-intensive items. Between our conflicting schedules, we barely had time to see each other.

To make matters worse, Coach Miller was all over me again, which I couldn’t understand because my grades were fine and so was my performance. I could barely breathe without him looking in my direction.

But even with staying busy, my thoughts weighed me down. It was like carrying a gigantic bag of hockey equipment around all week, metaphorically speaking.

I debated for several days over whether to do it. Weighed the pros and cons. Considered talking to Bailey first. Ruled that out. Tried to listen to my conscience. Wrestled with what my conscience said versus what my brain knew. Went back and forth several times. Asked Ward and promptly disregarded his advice because it didn’t align with what I wanted to do.

Finally, I pulled the trigger.

After getting Palmer to pass along Derek’s contact info, I had to do a shit ton of arm twisting via text to get him to meet me for a simple beer.

Dick.

I slid into the dark green vinyl booth, facing the front so I could watch for Derek when he arrived. Maybe this was a little hypocritical after giving Bailey a hard time about hiding the Morrison thing, but it was for a good cause. She’d understand.

Hopefully.

Plus, I did warn her that I was nosy.

Ten minutes later than we’d agreed, Derek pushed open the wooden double doors of O’Connor’s and crossed the room to my table. He flopped down into the booth across from me, giving me a wary look. His head-to-toe uniform of blue and gray Bulldogs gear was probably intentional, meant to remind me that we were still firmly on opposite sides.

“What do you want, Carter? Is this about Bailey?”

Pretty cold reception from someone who—according to Bailey—was willing to give me a chance, but whatever. I guess he was singing a different tune when she was around.