The drive back to the arena parking lot takes thirty minutes. By the time we pull in, it's 3:30, and I'm running on fumes and adrenaline.
Chase and I grab our gear and head to my truck. Theparking lot's quiet, just a few cars left belonging to guys who carpooled.
"Emma's making dinner tonight," Chase says as he climbs into the passenger seat. "You should actually come upstairs instead of hiding in your room all day and night."
I almost smile. He's not wrong. My usual routine after long road trips is to crash in the basement and sleep for what feels like an entire day, before ordering takeout.
"Yeah. Sounds good."
What I don't say is that I'm desperate to see Maya, to be in the same room as her, even if we can't touch, even if we have to pretend nothing's changed.
I turn the key in the ignition and reach for my phone, typing out a quick message before we head home.
Me
That's us back in Hartford, just about to drive home.
I don't expect a response, but then three dots appear.
Stardust
Drive safe.
Despite every rule we set, despite knowing this is supposed to stay physical, my heart pounds like I'm some lovesick teenager.
This is dangerous. This is exactly what we said couldn't happen.
But I can't stop it.
Fuck. I don’t want to stop it.
And that terrifies me almost as much as it thrills me.
16
MAYA
Ican't sleep.
It's almost 4:00 in the morning, and I'm sitting in the dark kitchen with a cup of tea I'm not drinking, listening to the house creak and settle around me. Max is somewhere upstairs, probably judging me from Emma's bed.
Jackson gets home tonight. Or this morning, technically. The team won both games. I watched them online, saw him score, assist, and command the ice like he was born to do it.
We've been texting. Casual, careful messages that reveal nothing and everything at the same time.
I miss him.
That's the problem. I'm not supposed to miss him. We're friends with benefits. Physical only. No feelings.
But I miss him.
Headlights sweep across the kitchen window. A car door closes. Keys in the lock.
My heart pounds. I should go upstairs, be in my room pretending to sleep, not sitting here like I've been waiting for him.
But I have been waiting for him.
The front door opens and closes quietly. The sound of bags being dropped by the stairs. Footsteps heading up, Chase, probably, going straight to Emma. Then more footsteps, these heading toward the kitchen.
