I pretend to check my phone again, thumb dragging over a screen I don’t even see. The gym’s noise feels far away, like I’m underwater. All I can think is:He saw me.Not just the way you glance at a stranger in the crowd, not the way you acknowledge someone in passing. Hesawme. And that blush—fuck, I want to lick a long line up his neck.
I hang back as they file out, teammates laughing, voices echoing down the hall. He’s at the center, of course. Always at the center. Captain steady, captain composed. But I can still see it: the faint flush staining his skin, the memory of how his eyeslocked on mine like maybe he knew he needed to look away, too, and couldn’t.
By the time they’re gone, the gym feels hollow again, like all the sound was scooped out. My feet move before my brain can stop them, carrying me toward the side exit. The cold air outside slaps me awake, but I don’t turn back to the apartment.
I lean against the wall just past the doors, cigarette rolling between my fingers but unlit. I don’t even smoke half the time, but it gives me something to do with my hands, something that looks casual when nothing inside me actually is.
Because the truth is, I’m not leaving yet. I’m waiting.
Waiting to see if he’ll come out. Waiting to see if he’ll look at me again, up close, where the crowd can’t blur us into background noise.
And if he does? Hell if I know what I’ll say. But I’ll think of something that isn’t me asking if he wants to hide away to hook up. Sure, we shared that one hot kiss and have been texting and talking for over a week, but this is the first time we’ve seen each other since I felt the slide of his tongue against mine.
And for as relaxed as I pretend to be, I want to do it again and again, and everything and anything he’s willing to give.
The night air bites sharper than I expected, crisp enough to fog my breath. I flick the cigarette against my palm, rolling it, still not lighting it. The nicotine isn’t the point. The waiting is.
The side door finally groans open, spilling a rectangle of fluorescent light across the pavement. Teammates tumble out first—two of them, loud and careless, shoving each other, still amped from the scrimmage. Their laughter scrapes the air, a jarring contrast to the hush settling inside me. I give them an up nod, then duck my chin, like I’m just killing time.
And then he steps out.
Ollie’s got a duffel slung across one shoulder, strap biting into the curve of muscle. Hair damp from the showers, curlinga little at the edges. He looks tired but steady, the kind of tired you earn. The kind that still carries dignity. His teammates veer off toward the lot, still talking shit. He hesitates on the steps, like he’s waiting for a beat of silence before he follows.
That’s when his gaze snags on me.
It’s not déjà vu. Not even close. It’s sharper, heavier, like a chord struck too hard. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in the flesh since the party, since his mouth pressed to mine and he whispered rules I’ve been ignoring in my head ever since.
His eyes catch mine quick, widen a fraction, and I see it hit him too—the weight of a week’s worth of messages and what we’re not supposed to be. His hand tightens on the strap of his bag.
“You came,” he says. Not surprised exactly. More like he’s making sense of the fact that I’m not just a voice on the other end of a phone anymore.
“Of course I did.” I keep my tone easy, even though my pulse is racing. “What, you think I’d miss my first chance to see you off-screen?”
That gets the tiniest twitch of his mouth, the almost-smile I’ve come to recognize when he’s trying not to give me too much.
He clears his throat, shifts his weight. “Most people would’ve just waited for me to text back.”
“Yeah, well.” I smirk. “I’m not most people. You figured that out already.”
The look he gives me lingers, cautious but curious, like he’s checking if I’m going to push past the line he drew after that kiss. His cheeks don’t pinken this time, but I can still see it in his eyes—the memory of that heat between us.
He steps half an inch closer, like he can’t help it, even if he wishes he could. “This isn’t—” He cuts himself off, jaw working. “It’s different, seeing you here.”
“Different good, or different bad?” I keep it light, teasing, but my chest is tight waiting for his answer.
He exhales through his nose, eyes flicking away and back. “Complicated.”
The word hangs between us, heavier than it should be. And I know if I press right now, if I demand more, he’ll shut down. So I don’t. I roll the cigarette between my fingers once, then tuck it back behind my ear.
“Relax, Captain. I just wanted to remind you I’m real.” My grin softens the edge. “Not just the guy who won’t stop blowing up your phone.”
That gets him. His throat works as he swallows, and something in his shoulders loosens—not much, but enough.
I think that’s it, that he’s going to walk away, when he surprises me. His voice is low, almost tentative. “You got plans for New Year’s?”
I blink. “Not really. Why?”
He shifts his bag higher on his shoulder. “Come to a party. It’s at one of the guys’ houses. Nothing formal. Just… show up.”
