Final buzzer. 3–2.
Another win without me.
I head down, blending into the tunnel chaos—reporters barking questions, cameras flashing, guys laughing as they peel off gear. I stay to the side, invisible, until I catch sight of her.
Charlie. Tablet in one hand, headset tugged loose, hair slipping from her ponytail. Focused, efficient… until her eyes flick up and catch mine.
That same current from this morning crackles between us.
She hesitates, then steps closer, low enough that no one else can hear. “How’s Sophie?”
The question guts me in the best way. That she remembers, that she asks. “She’s good,” I manage. “Can’t stop humming her song.”
Charlie’s smile is small, quick, but it hits harder than the win did.
“Huge congrats,” she says. “Big win.”
I should just nod, say thanks, let her walk. But my chest’s still buzzing from the fact that I haven’t stopped thinking about her all damn day.
My pulse hammers in my ears. My grip on the crutch goes damp. Hands clammy, throat tight, every nerve strung taut—like I’m back on the dot, waiting for a faceoff.
And before I can shut myself up, it slips out—rough, unpolished.
“Have dinner with me?”
Her eyes widen, then soften. For a second, I swear the whole tunnel noise fades. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a faint flush climbing her cheeks.
“Yeah,” she says quietly, after a beat that has me holding my breath. “Sunday works for me.”
“It’s a date.”
Jesus, did I really just say that?
Someone down the hall calls her name. She gives me one last look—steady, almost secret—before the professional mask slides back into place and she disappears into the crowd.
I lean back against the wall, pulse still hammering. We just won a playoff game. But that’s not what’s making my chest feel like it’s about to explode.
Sunday can’t come fast enough.
Chapter Fifteen
CHARLOTTE
Kristy’s already waving me over from a high-top when I walk into our usual spot. She’s got a glass of red wine and that look on her face—the one that says she’s been waiting to pounce.
The second I sit down, she squints at me. “Okay, what’s going on with you?”
I blink. “What do you mean?”
She tilts her head, studying me like she’s running a full evaluation. “You’re glowing. And before you say it’s just work—no. I know your work face. This is different. This is I-have-a-secret face. So spill. Who is he?”
My laugh comes out too quick, too nervous. “I didn’t say there’s a ‘he.’”
Her brows shoot up. “Oh, there’s definitely a he.” She leans in, voice dropping. “So? Details.”
I twist my glass between my hands. “It’s… new. Complicated. That’s all I’m saying.”
Kristy grins. “Charlie, you deserve complicated. You deserve happy. Just… don’t overthink it until you strangle the joy out of it, okay?”
