Tall levels her with a look.
She smirks. “Honestly? Bit anticlimactic. I was expecting at least a puff of smoke or a haunting whisper.”
His face hardens. “This isn’t a joke to me.”
Naomi bites the inside of her cheek, holding back another quip. “I’m just trying to lighten the mood. You’re operating at a higher-than-average level of growl today.”
He opens his mouth as if he’s about to snap back, but then he stops. Shuts it down with a slow breath through his nose. His lips press into a thin line as he takes the stick from her hands and turns away, placing it back against the wall with deliberate care.
He doesn’t face her when he speaks.
“I got a call this morning. The Mavericks are pulling up another goalie to the NHL. Not me.”
Naomi jerks her head back slightly, surprise jolting through her. “Wait, what? Why would they do that? You’ve been unreal lately.”
He glances over his shoulder, and for the first time since she walked in, warmth creeps into his eyes. The corner of his mouth twitches—barely. “Have you been stalking me again?”
Naomi snorts. “Please. If I was stalking you, you’d never see me coming. I’m small and sneaky, remember?”
That almost-smile lingers a second longer before he turns back to the stick, running a finger slowly along the fresh tape like it’s grounding him. The amusement fades.
“They think I’m not ready.”
The words hang there for a second, ugly and heavy. Tall’s shoulders are rigid, his back to her, like he’s trying to keep himself together molecule by molecule.
An ache blooms behind Naomi’s ribs, that subtle pull of recognizing when someone isn't just being difficult but is actually hurting.
It’s not pity. She knows better than to offer that.
But empathy sneaks in for the man who dropped his considerable armor for her to see the cracks underneath.
Shifting her weight, Naomi hugs her arms to her chest, unsure what to do with the sudden gravity between them. She came here to mess with a surly goalie and annoy him with dick jokes. She didn’t plan on…this.
Naomi clears her throat. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think they’re wrong.”
Tall doesn’t respond. He stares at the stick, jaw tight.
“You’ve been, like…actually good. Even I can tell.” She presses on, awkward but sincere. “And it has nothing to do with a magic stick. You know I don’t say that lightly because complimenting you physically pains me.”
That earns the barest flicker of a smile that vanishes almost immediately.
He shakes his head, pushing off the wall. “Great. Now you’ve seen me have feelings. Guess I’ll go walk into traffic.”
Naomi pats his arm. “Don’t tempt me with a good time.”
Tall snorts and jerks his chin toward the exit. “Come on. I’ll callyou an Uber so you don’t freeze to death out there.” He pauses, glancing at her sideways. “Although, on second thought…”
She narrows her eyes at him, but her mouth twitches.
He sets off down the tunnel, long strides eating up the distance. She hurries to keep pace, practically jogging up the steep concrete steps behind him in the empty seating bowl. The arena feels cavernous without the crowd noise, every footstep echoing as they climb toward the concourse.
Naomi checks her phone as she hurries towards the doors. Fifteen minutes to get back to the office. Doable. Barely. If traffic cooperates and the weather doesn’t suck.
A gust of icy wind slams into the glass exit doors as they reach them, the frame rattling hard enough to make her jump.
She stops short—just as Tall barrels into her from behind with a solid thud.
“Oof—” she stumbles forward, but a warm hand clamps around her elbow, steadying her.
