“You’re efficient even when you’re stealing my utilities.”
She stopped short and blinked at me a few times, as if she’d only just noticed me sitting here. Her gaze tracked over me without apology, and her throat moved through a hard swallow that was impossible to hide.
“You changed your shampoo.”
“What?”
She tipped her head toward the bathroom. “Your shampoo. It’s different.”
“Oh…” I stood up and cleared my throat, angling for the right approach. But she was staring at me and I didn’t know what to say so I just said, “Ran out.”
Her brows drew together as she studied me. “How did you know it’s the one I like?”
I lifted my mug and took a careful drink, buying myself a second. I couldn’t exactly tell her it was easy once I knew that her hair smelled like jasmine and something sweet, like pineapple. Then all I needed to do was go to the store and uncap every bottle of every brand until the smell matched the memory I had of her head pressed into my shoulder when we danced.
That was private information. Dangerous information.
“Lucky guess,” I said instead, and cleared my throat.
She stared at me a little harder, as though she could tell the way my pulse had started to race. But then she smiled.
“Well, thanks,” she said. “It’s way better than that paint stripper you had before.
She moved for the front door and the sudden motion caused the corner of her towel to slip. My eyes dropped before I could stop them. When I looked back up, she was clutching her towel and watching me, heat rising between us in the small space.
Neither of us moved.
I reached out without thinking and caught a damp strand of hair that had fallen across her cheek in the panic, and guided it back behind her ear. My fingers lingered there, just long enough to feel the warmth of her skin, the quiet intake of her breath.
Her hand tightened on the towel, and I followed the line of her jaw as her tongue came out to wet her lips.
“Nicole—”
“Thank you,” she said quickly, taking a tentative step out of reach. “For… the shower. And the shampoo. That was nice. I swear I’m getting the water heater fixed. I can’t keep breaking into your apartment like this.”
“You can,” I said. “I don’t mind.”
Her gaze lifted fast.
Something unspoken passed between us. Want, held in check by circumstances and better judgment and a man named James who wasn’t here but might as well have been physically holding us apart.
She nodded once, as if sealing something away. “Okay, bye.”
My front door opened and shut behind her before I could think of a single clever thing to say.
I stayed where I was, listening. Waited for her apartment door to open next door. Then it closed.
I dragged a breath as my shoulders sagged, and stared at the bathroom door, at the faint fog still clinging to the mirror.
“Keep going, Landon,” I muttered under my breath. “What a champ you are.”
*
Frost Bank felt different before puck drop. Tighter, somehow, as though everyone had cinched the place at its proverbial waist but still expected it to hold the game.
I stepped onto the ice for warmups and the boards rattled under my skates. Utah Mammoth sweaters dotted the far end, thick shoulders, heavy legs. They were a grinding team with no finesse. The type who leaned on you until you made mistakes, and then punished you for them.
“Shawn would’ve loved this,” I said, scanning the crowd.
