"By playing injured?"
"By showing up. Every day. No matter what."
"That's how you get seriously hurt, and career-ending injuries can happen," I warn him.
"No. That's how you win championships."
Urgh. Athletes. And hockey players are the worst. All macho and thinking they are invincible.
"I'm going to have trouble with you. You're stubborn."
"I'm in peak physical condition."
I roll my eyes. "You're going to be a pain in my ass."
"Probably." He smirks.
We continue watching the highlights and chatting. After a while, he leans back, stretching his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers drumming against the leather, close to my shoulder but not touching. I'm hyperaware of the space between us, or the lack of it. We keep watching. But the air has shifted. Charged. I finish eating, and as I set my plate on the coffee table, my leg brushes his. We both freeze. The contact sends electricity shooting through me. His thigh is solid, warm, and now pressed against mine. Neither of us moves. My heart is hammering. I can hear it in my ears.
"Sorry," I mutter.
"Don't be." His voice is rough.
I should pull away, create distance. This isn't right, we work together, and he's my brothers’ teammate. I don't. We sit like that, legs touching, the game playing on screen, neither of us watching anymore.
"This is a bad idea," I say quietly.
"What is?"
"This. Us. Sitting this close."
"Probably." He shrugs.
"So, we should move."
"We should."
But we don't.
His hand on the back of the couch shifts, his fingers graze my shoulder, just barely, a whisper of contact. My breath catches.
"Emmett ..."
"I know."
"We can't ..."
"I know."
Silence falls between us as the room feels charged with electricity.
"I can't seem to help myself," he confesses.
Neither can I. But I don't voice that aloud. I slowly turn my head, which brings my face closer to him. Whatever this is between us continues to burn hotter. I don't know if it's because we want to have round two, something we never had time to complete, or because we now can't have round two, so it makes us want it more. Maybe we just need to get it out of our system before tomorrow.
A kiss, just to relieve the tension that is simmering between us.
"We can't ..." I say it again.
