He exhales through his nose and walks over to Jesse.
“Hey,” he says, keeping his voice low. “You got a charger?”
Jesse looks up, blinking. “Yeah, probably. Why?”
Garrett hesitates. His jaw tightens. He hates explaining things. Especially things that make him sound…involved.
“It’s not for me,” he says, aiming for casual. “It’s for that girl from marketing, Naomi. She’s stuck here. Has to take a meeting and I’m letting her use my tablet.”
Jesse’s expression lights up with interest far too quickly. “Yeah? I can bring it to her.”
Garrett doesn’t think. Just answers.
“No. I’ll do it.”
It comes out sharper than it should. A little too fast.
Jesse squints at him, clearly amused. But Garrett’s already looking away, scratching at the back of his neck, pretending to scan the counter for chargers that don’t exist.
His pulse is too high for someone who hasn’t even touched the ice. His hoodie feels too warm, too tight around the collar. He doesn’t like this. Doesn’t like how his brain keeps skipping back to the look on Naomi’s face at the doors. How pale she went under her freckles.
She’d made a joke—typical—and he’d batted it down. He always does that. And now she’s pacing somewhere in the concourse, probably cursing the weather and him and the entire Whalers organization, and she needs a damn tablet and a charger.
It should be simple. Grab the thing. Bring it to her to make amends for screwing up her meeting or whatever. End of story.
So why the hell does it feel like his entire nervous system just panicked and hit every alarm at once?
He clenches his jaw and looks back at Jesse.
“Just—where is it?”
Jesse grins and points toward his gear bag. “Front pocket. Knock yourself out.”
Garrett nods once. Doesn’t thank him. He turns away before Jesse can say something else with that stupid twinkle in his eye.
He finds her exactly where he left her—curled in one of the stiff chairs in the concourse’s sitting area. Her coat is folded over the back, scarf draped on top, both dusted with melting ice crystals.She’s leaning over her phone with one knee bouncing, fingers flying over the screen.
Garrett clears his throat as he approaches, tablet and charger in hand. “Here,” he says, holding them out awkwardly.
Naomi looks up, and despite the visible tension in her shoulders, she smirks.
“Aw, look at you. Like the AHL’s grumpiest intern.”
He snorts under his breath. “Interns usually get paid. I’m doing this out of fear.”
She takes the tablet and charger, immediately plugging it in and unlocking the screen. Her movements are efficient, practiced. She’s already halfway in business mode as she slips in her headphones.
“Thank you, seriously,” she says without looking up. “You’ve earned one free eye roll the next time I insult you.”
He opens his mouth, ready with some dry comeback about how she already hands out eye rolls like Halloween candy, but the words catch somewhere behind his teeth.
Now that he’s standing still, now that the adrenaline’s dropped…he’s looking at her.
Actually looking.
That sweater she’s wearing is a goddamn test of his self-control. Soft blue cotton molded to every curve, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, revealing the soft lines of her forearms and the little divot at her wrist he has no business fixating on.
Her cheeks are still flushed from the cold. Eyes bright, full lips the color of strawberries parted in concentration.
