And for a moment everything in me eased. The weight of the scrimmage, the video, the pressure... it all quieted under a mountain of spaghetti and perfectly seasoned meatballs.
And it was nice.
The spaghetti, her hand brushing mine, the stupid dragon joke she kept circling back to.
It was all... safe. Normal.
Eventually, Carlo dropped off the bill and told us we were his “favorite couple of the night.” Emily giggled and squeezed my arm. I managed a smile that felt mostly real.
We boxed up the leftover garlic knots—her idea, of course—and stepped out into the cool night air.
Emily slipped her hand into mine.
I squeezed back.
Carlo had called uslovers.Emily had called Alex acrush.
Maybe it was just different feelings I could have for different people. Maybe relationships were a little more boring. Maybe crushes were like flings, not real, just temporary.
Not something anyone could lock down for good.
When we reached her building, Emily didn’t get out of the car right away. She lingered with her hand on the door handle, biting her lip the way she did when she was nervous.
“My roommate’s gone for the night, do you... maybe want to come up?” She asked.
There was a flutter of hope, excitement, and a little vulnerability in her eyes.
And I should’ve said no. I should’ve told her I had practice early tomorrow, or that I was too tired, or that my head wasn’t in the right place.
But a part of me thought:Yeah, maybe this’ll help. Maybe this will settle me down for the scrimmage. Maybe this will make everything feel normal again.
“Yeah,” I said. “Sure.”
She smiled in a way that made my chest warm in a soothing, comforting way. We climbed the narrow stairs to the secondfloor. The hall was quiet except for the hum of an old vending machine and some distant laughter from the common room.
Her dorm door clicked open. The place was small: two twin beds, two desks, string lights, and an overflowing bulletin board plastered with photos of her friends and sticky notes with motivational quotes.
It smelled faintly of vanilla and laundry detergent. Very girly.
She stepped inside and tugged me after her. The moment the door shut, she leaned up and kissed me. Like really kissed me—hands in my hair, her body pressing against mine. She pulled away with a wild look in her eyes.
“Hey captain,” she said.
I smirked and kissed her back, letting myself sink into it. Her lips, the slide of her hands at the back of my neck, the small sound she made when I pulled her closer—it all felt good. Really good.
My heartbeat kicked up, and my hands found her waist, her shirt.
My pulse thudded hard in my throat as she pulled me toward the bed, sitting and drawing me down with her. Her hands slipped under the hem of my shirt, fingertips warm against my skin. Heat rushed low in my stomach, and my dick hardened.
“You okay?” she whispered, breath warm against my cheek.
“Yeah, very okay,” I said, my voice rough.
Then the door burst open.
“Hey Em, did you—AHH! OH GOD—sorry! Sorry!”
Her roommate froze in the doorway, backpack half on, half off, eyes wide like she’d just walked in on a homicide.
