Page 65 of Wild Card 13

She simply occupied the space with the same quiet confidence she'd always carried.

The difference was everyone else saw it now too.

By the time we landed, my shoulders already felt tighter than they had before we'd taken off.

I grabbed my carry-on from the overhead compartment just as the aisle bottlenecked near the front of the plane.

Bodies compressed together. Equipment bags. Winter coats. People impatient to sit around on another bus instead.

Lucy stepped forward at the exact moment I did. There wasn't room for either of us.

I turned sideways instinctively.

The back of my hand brushed lightly against her hip. Barely anything. A fraction of a second. Her hip beneath my knuckles

She gaze snapped to my hand.

"So sorry," I stammered automatically.

"It's fine."

That was it. Two words. Polite. Forgettable.

Except my body apparently hadn't received the memo. Heat shot through me so suddenly it felt like somebody had driven a skate blade straight through my ribs.

Jesus Christ.

I clenched my jaw hard enough to make it ache.

Eight years, and one stupid brush of her hip had my brain acting like I was a teenager again.

I stared straight ahead until the line started moving.

Get it together.

She isn’t your Lucy anymore.

She isn’t the girl who used to steal fries off your plate and pretend she hadn't.

She isn’t the girl who fell asleep against your shoulder during road trips home from debate tournaments.

She isn’t the girl who called you Ty like it belonged only to her.

Now she is Lucy Thomas, Acting Head of Player Operations. Nothing more.

The rest of the day became one long, aggravating stretch of almosts.

Almost looking at her.

Almost speaking to her.

Almost forgetting she was there until I heard her voice fromthree rows away, calm and professional as she answered a question from one of the travel coordinators.

By the time we got off the plane, loaded onto the buses, checked into the hotel, dressed for the arena, and made it through every carefully timed obligation leading up to puck drop, I had seen Lucy more than I had spoken to her.

Which was probably for the best.

She moved through the organization like she had been built into it. Not the locker room. Not the bench.